Ticker
by OWLSCRATCH
Summary: Agent Misty Cox is on assignment when she is informed of Clint's compromising. Fueled by anger and a tenacity immeasurable, she becomes part of the Avengers Initiative to stop Loki and save whatever remains of Agent Barton. Set during The Avengers. Clint/OC. Rated primarily for language.
1. CHAPTER ONE

**Hello, wonderful people! It's been quite a long time. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are most appreciated!**

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All was quiet in Joao Pessao.

Kingpin Raúl Fama sat comfortably in an Aeron office chair at a poker table surrounded by (who were perceived to be) his associates. On the table, crumpled or crisp, being steadily banded by a balding man with three fingers on one hand, was a mound of hundred dollar bills. As the man worked from across the table, Fama lit the cigarette (upon looking closer, it actually appeared to be a hollowed out cigar filled with cannabis) between his lips and blew two columns of smoke from his nostrils. The smoke billowed in translucent clouds out of the opened windows of the shack. He pushed a stack of poker chips from the edge of the table and said something to the faintly stout, pockmarked man beside him.

Atop a small knoll was Agent Misty Cox, who shifted in her prone position on the ground and held her breath as she rested in Fama's cannabis field—she was lying in what looked and smelled like indica, but it was all the same to her. Misty spread her legs and dug the logger toes of her boots into the moist, loamy soil. She looked into the tactical scope of her sniper rifle, unconsciously drew her mouth agape, and pressed the butt hard into her shoulder. With one hand gripping the forestock, the other beneath the trigger guard, and a crystal clear shot to Fama's forehead, Misty hooked her finger around the trigger. Just as she began to draw it back, a generic ringing noise sounded in her earbuds.

She cursed under her breath and, without releasing her hold on the forestock of the rifle, reached into the soil beside her and tapped her phone screen to answer the call. Misty dug an elbow into the soil and moved her other hand back to the trigger guard.

"Agent Cox."

"Cox, we've got a problem," Director Fury said.

"Yes. Mine involves a Kingpin… and an overwhelming amount of cannabis."

Fury's sigh crackled in her earbuds like crumpled cellophane wrapping. "We've got _another_ problem."

"Talk fast. I've got to shit—shoot. Fury, my head feels _very_ light. You'll vouch if the higher-ups threaten suspension for a failed drug test, right?"

"The problem is even _greater_ than that."

"Just say yes. I'll shut up."

"Yes, Cox."

"Wonderful. What's the problem?"

A beat.

"Fury? You there? Is this conversation happening in real-time?"

"I need you to stay calm, Cox."

"You're testing my patience."

"I need verbal affirmation that you're not going to _flip shit_. Do you understand me? I know you."

Misty rolled her eyes and sighed. "How can I promise you that I won't flip—wait, wait." Misty watched Fama stand from his seated position on the Aeron chair and walk to the makeshift bar across the room. She followed his lengthy strides with her tactical scope, adjusting the rifle back to a seamless, by-the-books forehead shot. Fama leaned on the bar, cigar wagging on his lips, and poured himself a glass of what looked like—Misty looked closer—bourbon. "As I was _saying_ … How can I promise that I won't _flip shit_ if you don't tell me anything?"

"I need your word, Cox. Say it, even if it's a lie."

"I promise I'll stay calm."

"Barton's gotten himself into a—stay calm and shut your damn mouth!" Fury shouted. "He's gotten himself into a fix, Agent. He's been compromised."

Misty felt her chest tighten. Her mouth went dry and very suddenly felt finely ribbed as if she had eaten a spoonful of beach sand; it tasted faintly of saline. Her stomach, once empty and craving something salty, now churned with a white-hot burning sensation that travelled through all of her limbs. Compromised? She couldn't help but to think terrible thoughts about what that meant specifically. Was he hurt? Dying? Dead by now? She couldn't even form comprehensive thoughts, let alone _words_ to answer Director Fury's incessant calling of her name.

Without another moment of hesitation, Misty took the shot at Fama. She didn't bother to see if she had hit him (even though she was completely confident that she did) and instead, began to take apart the sniper rifle and pack it away. Before strapping up, in her immense spitefulness, she set a fire that began to burn steadily through Fama's supply. Misty swung the weapon over her shoulder and began her trek across the field, boots treading in the small flames that built in the soil.

"I'm on my way."


	2. CHAPTER TWO

When her airliner touched down on the helipad near the landing base, Misty didn't wait for clearance to disembark. She jumped out of the helicopter (despite the pilot's instructions) and rushed the ramp as Agent Coulson descended beside a much taller and broad-shouldered man: Steve Rogers, she figured—he definitely was as good-looking as the newspaper clippings and old telecasts made him out to be. Misty stopped Agent Coulson on the Helicarrier ramp and, before she could open her mouth to speak, he interjected calmly.

"This is—" Coulson's scrutinous eyes travelled the base. "—not the place for a debriefing."

" _God_ absolutely _forbid_ including me in the loop," she said in jest, and lowered her voice to a harsh, acidic whisper. "If you told Natasha _before_ me, I'm going to blow a fuse."

"There's a strategy, a _purpose_ if you will, behind everything we do, Agent Cox. I know you. _You_ know you. You'd skip off on your own to find him without ever conferring with us. No personal vendettas. We don't do that at S.H.I.E.L.D. and you know it. You'll be wound back into the loop. I promise. For right now, you're better off knowing what you don't."

"You're not helping my hypertension, Coulson."

In the very back of her mind, she knew that Fury and Coulson were looking out for her sanity, but they weren't abating her anger any. The truth was that Misty had a large spot in her heart where both agents resided comfortably. As often as they did contribute to her ever-present high blood pressure (she was on Clonidine HCL as her numbers typically read something like 150/90 at the end of a long day), she could not help but to let that place for them rest contentedly and undisturbed by anything.

Coulson patted her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze that didn't ease her tension. His eyebrows suddenly furrowed in confusion, nose membranes flaming and eyes narrowing once again to that scrutinous gaze. He noticed a twinge of red discoloring the white of her eyeball. Misty didn't like the look on his face, as it appeared that she was going to be reprimanded for something.

"Have you been smoking marijuana?"

Misty beamed. While she was very much agitated by the situation, she also felt the smallest, smallest stab of delight and still wanted a paper cone of crinkle-cut French fries. " _Basking_ in it." As Coulson was about to offer his cross rebuttal, Misty held a finger up. "Under _whose_ orders was I dropped in that field?" She pointed the finger at herself and shook her head. "Not _mine_."

Beside Coulson, Steve Rogers cleared his throat and wrung his hands together.

"Agent," Coulson began. "Steve Rogers."

Misty offered her hand, the smile still tugging at her mouth. "Captain Rogers. Agent Misty Cox. It's a pleasure."

Steve took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Agent Cox. The pleasure is mine."

They released their grips on each other's hands and followed Coulson down the length of the ramp. At the bottom stood Agent Natasha Romanoff with her arms behind her back, a stoic look on her face. Misty stood behind Coulson, who approached Natasha with a faint smile and nodded slightly.

"Agent Romanoff." He gestured to Steve with an opened hand. "Captain Rogers."

"Ma'am?"

"Hi," Natasha replied curtly before turning back to face Coulson. "They need you on the bridge. Face time."

"See you there." Coulson walked away, but not before sternly pointing a finger at Misty. "No personal vendettas… and no more marijuana. I'll have your head, Agent Cox."

"God bless you, Agent Coulson," Misty said in jest, saluting Coulson.

"Marijuana?" Natasha asked.

Misty waved off the question. "Not important."

Natasha, Steve, and Misty all walked toward the edge of the ship. Sighing, Misty held the railing tight with both hands, discoloring the knuckles, and shifted her weight to one side of her body. They watched the ocean water, briny and dark blue, curl and shimmer as the waves rose gently then crashed down. While Misty's thoughts still remained snarled and awry in her head, the one thing she could distinguish from the rest was her deep-seated fear concerning Barton's whereabouts.

"There was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice," Natasha said, breaking the silence shared between the three. She started to walk away, and Steve and Misty followed closely. "I thought Coulson was gonna _swoon_. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?"

"Tasha…"

"What? I'm just asking."

"Trading cards?"

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. "They're vintage. He's very proud."

Ahead, Misty noticed a familiar face. She has seen this face in green all over television, enlarged with high-gloss on tabloid covers, slandered and smeared everywhere she looked. Yet, all she saw before her was a tired man with soft eyes and a nervous, hesitant stride. Misty didn't believe that he was as terrible as people made him out to be as circumstances _did_ apply and concern his case. She didn't know Bruce Banner very well, but she liked him (and his seemingly calm demeanor) already.

"Dr. Banner," Steve said and offered his hand to Bruce, who shook with the same hesitance he displayed in his gait.

"Oh, yeah. Hi. They told me you'd be coming."

"Dr. Banner," Misty interjected. "Agent Misty Cox." She offered her hand too, but Bruce looked at it with an immense disdain in his eyes. "I'm offended," she said dryly, drawing her hand back.

"Offense is not my intention," he replied. "I haven't had much luck with S.H.I.E.L.D." Bruce cleared his throat and motioned to Natasha, who smiled devilishly and seemed to blow a small kiss to him.

"We're not all Satan's children." Misty offered her hand again and, with a sincere albeit red look in her eyes, she whispered, "You can trust me, Doc. I'm the nice one." Her gaze was solid, but veered irregularly, always moving back to his face. Bruce seemed to be puzzled. Misty lowered her voice even more and said: "And yes, I was incredibly high this morning. I feel okay now."

He laughed softly, nodded, and took her hand. She placed her free left hand over his right, covered it, and gave a gentle shake. Not many people were as warm and honest to Banner as Misty was, especially for an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.—the hand-hug, kind and friendly, conveyed it all.

"Doctor," Steve interrupted. "Word is you can find the cube."

Bruce wiggled his hand out of Misty's grip and looked between the three people in front of him. "Is that the only word on me?" he asked, gently pressing comedy, but coming off incredibly solemn.

"Only word I care about."

"Must be strange for you, all of this."

"Well, this is actually kind of familiar."

Suddenly, engines roared to life and turbines whipped the air forcefully. Misty's curls, pulled back neatly with a hair tie, flew about behind her. She fisted a wad of Bruce's shirt to keep him upright as the Helicarrier started to rumble and everyone's footing was very suddenly lost. Bruce looked at her and smiled softly, Misty returned the gesture and mouthed, "You're welcome, Doctor."

"Gentlemen, you may wanna step inside in a minute," Natasha said. "It's gonna get a little hard to breathe."

"Is this a submarine?" Steve asked.

"Really? They want me in a submerged pressurized metal container?" Bruce and Steve walked closer to the edge and watched the lift fans work to move the Helicarrier out of the water. Bruce beamed. "Oh, no. This is _much_ worse."

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 **As always, reviews are very much appreciated!**


	3. CHAPTER THREE

"That's him?" Misty asked, shouting her question over the sound of the Quinjet's rumbling engines. She stood at the opened back hatch, holding onto the jumbled mess of cargo straps to keep herself safely upright. "Does he know that he looks like a desert goat?"

"Focus, Cox!" Romanoff shouted from her seat at the front of the jet.

Outside, Steve Rogers (sans any defining personal characteristics, as he donned his Captain America suit) vaulted himself in front of an elderly man in order to protect him from a flash of crystalline blue energy. It appeared that he was speaking to Loki, but Misty couldn't hear the particulars of the conversation. While Steve's face bore an unsympathetic and hardened look, Loki was visibly amused by him, the incessant screams of citizens, and the flames like a large disk around him.

Misty was on standby if it appeared at all that Steve was going to need her help—he seemed to be holding up well enough at the moment. She would readily jump into action and fight beside Captain America, bold and valorous, but she knew just by looking at him that Loki had an advantage against her—stature, strength, strategy. Not to mention that he was holding quite a large, ominous scepter in his hands that spewed deadly sapphire (and apparently turned good hearts into bad ones… Clint).

The Quinjet dipped slightly as the machine gun fell through the opened access door at the bottom. Misty fisted a bundle of cargo straps and steadied herself as the floor beneath her bounced up and fell back down. She grimaced slightly. Planes were _okay_ , but she wouldn't prefer to die in one.

"Loki," Natasha's voice boomed on the speakers. "Drop the weapon and stand down."

No sooner than the words left her mouth did Loki fire a blue blast of energy at the Quinjet. Natasha grabbed ahold of the control column and cut it to the left. The jet followed in a hard, jerky motion to avoid Loki's blast and any structural or internal damage. The hard cut caught Misty off guard and she completely lost her grip on the cargo netting once in her grasp. She fell, smacked her face on the cabin floor, and hit the side of the jet on her back as it turned out of the way. Before sliding out of the Quinjet on the opened hatch floor, she managed to grab ahold of the interior paneling with one hand.

"Close the hatch!" she screamed. "Tasha, the hatch!"

Natasha obliged, and flipped a switch that slowly folded the hatch back into the jet. Once completely safe and secure inside, Misty released her grip on the paneling and lay slack on the cabin floor. Her nose bled a bit, and she touched it gently with the pads of her fingers to find that it was not broken.

"Tasha… _Tasha_ … _Some warning_ … _Any kind of warning_ …" she struggled to catch her breath. "…would have been appreciated."

"Sorry!"

Suddenly, the controls screeched and rock music flooded the Quinjet.

"What's that?" Misty asked, holding her nose. "Iron Maiden? Led Zeppelin? What's going on? Is it Iron Maiden? What the fuck is going on, Natasha!?"

"No," Natasha sighed. "Iron Man… and AC/DC. Great guess though."

Misty pulled herself up on her elbows and crawled the length of the air corridor. From behind Natasha, she rose from the floor to look out of the front windshield. On the ground, seemingly subdued, was Loki. Standing above him in the definite position of power were Iron Man and Captain America. They held a conversation indiscernible from the Quinjet before flanking Loki on both sides and maintaining his stooped position at the foot of a staircase. Strange, as Loki was not offering the slightest bit of resistance.

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The Quinjet was relatively quiet as Natasha steered it through the mist and collection of velvet clouds. Twenty minutes prior, Tony and Steve brought Loki onboard, sat him on the bench seat, and thought about strapping him in with the available five-point harness, but decided against it. No one was going to be _too_ affected if the turbulence was a bit jarring and Loki bounded around the jet's interior. While Tony and Steve engaged in a bout of catty banter at the back of the jet, Misty sat on the bench across from Loki and didn't take her acute gaze off of him.

"How's your sense of smell faring?" Tony asked.

Loki chuckled. "I hope _I_ didn't do that," he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

Misty glared at Tony. "You're _asinine_ ," she spat, then turned to Loki. "And so are you." Her nose, lips, and chin were marked crimson from the nosebleed. "I'll kill you. I swear to God, I'll kill you."

Loki's mouth formed into a small 'o'. "Your false God?" he scoffed. "I've never before heard such a… weightless threat."

Misty stood up and, with a sleek flick of the wrist, unfolded her five-foot tapered battle baton. She cocked her head to the side and smirked slightly. "I'll oblige. Wanna take a spin, Daddy-O?"

Steve intervened before anything could happen, wordlessly guiding Misty to the front of the jet where Natasha was co-piloting. He shared a few quiet, soothing words with her that lessened some of the anger bursting in (almost) painful shock-waves throughout her body. Misty looked through the doorway to Loki and found him grinning mischievously while wringing his hands together. Steve intentionally blocked her line of sight and encouraged a deep breath before he walked with her back to her seat across from Loki. She folded her baton four times and slid it into the dual strap holder of her duty belt.

" _False god_ ," Misty mouthed to Loki, who was staring at her with rapt eyes.

A bolt of lightning suddenly struck and seemed to open the sky around the jet, leaving a gash of bright white in the black. In his seat, Loki sighed heavily and flexed his arms as if preparing for something.

"What's the matter?" Steve asked. "Scared of a little lightning?"

Rolling his eyes, Loki replied with: "I'm not overly fond of what follows."

The Quinjet rocked suddenly, and a blinding light hit the back hatch. The ramp unfolded and there, in the shower of scrap metal and light, stood a man only briefly before he grabbed Loki and flew out of the opened hatch. The only thing registered to the eye, bearing in mind his speed, was his liquid-like red cape against the darkness of the sky.

The shock lasted a moment before Tony stepped to the ramp. "Now there's _that_ guy."

"Another Asguardian?" asked Natasha from the front of the Quinjet.

"Think the guy's friendly?"

"Doesn't matter. If he frees Loki or kills him, the Tesseract's lost." Tony turned away from Steve and walked the length of the ramp. The folded-back helmet in his suit of iron formed back over his face and muffled his speech.

"The latter sounds… strangely _pleasant_ ," Misty said to no one in particular.

"Stark, we need a plan of attack!"

"I have a plan: attack!" Tony shouted. He jumped out of the plane without another word and disappeared into the dark of night. The only things visible and discernible were the beams of light shooting from the propellers of his suit. Behind him, Steve was preparing a parachute at the ramp.

"Cap?"

"I'd sit this one out, Cap," Natasha said.

He didn't look back to Misty or Natasha, and instead continued clipping together the disconnected pieces of the parachute. "I don't see how I can."

" _I see_ how you can!" Misty shouted over the sound of the winds and the engines. She pointed to the empty bench across from her. "I believe in you, Cap. I really do! But I think you should have a seat!"

"I agree. These guys come from legends, they're basically gods."

"There's only one god, ma'am. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that." With that, Captain America dove from the ramp and fell through opaque clouds and the night sky.

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 **I had lots of fun writing this chapter-at Misty's expense. As always and forever, reviews are love!**


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

**Hello! Thank you all for sticking with me so far! I'm trying to be somewhat prompt on posting chapters, so we'll see how long that lasts. This chapter went through lots of editing and I _think_ it turned out how I wanted. As always, reviews are great works of art! Enjoy!**

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Back on the Helicarrier, the Quinjet's bumpy touchdown was met by dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and police to escort Loki to the detention sector. Misty had one hand tightened around Loki's shoulder and, with the other, prodded him in the back with the blunt end of her baton, directing him down the ramp and off the Quinjet. Loki chuckled with a great deal of gusto when she shoved him into the waiting hands of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He held up his hands, tightly cuffed together, and pointed to Misty.

"You, Agent Cox, play an unfair game," Loki said.

"I'm not concerned with fairness," she replied coldly.

"Cox," Natasha called from the top of the ramp, holding the cargo net in one hand. "Your state of mind is very… _sideward leaning_. Breathe. Take a break. Leave that _bug_ to me."

Misty knew what this was. Natasha thought she was too angry, too passionate, too emotional. She thought Misty might let that anger control her and compromise the whole point of the mission by beating Loki into a heap of senseless, fleshy tissue. Natasha was right… about one part. She was too angry, too passionate, _too_ emotional. As much as Misty wanted to drive the blunt end of her baton through his chest and wipe the ever-present smirk from his face, she knew what that would mean for Clint's future: uncertainty.

Misty narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're getting on my nerves."

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. "Why do you think they hired me?"

Without offering a reply, Misty motioned for the agents to take Loki away to his holding cell and followed closely behind. They led Loki inside and held their respective grips tightly as they steered through various corridors. Misty didn't see his detention through, as her anger was beginning to build again, and instead dipped into the laboratory where Doctor Banner was working on the scepter. He looked uncomfortable when Loki spared him a quick, albeit ill-omened glance through the window.

"Don't let him scare you," Misty said, looking back through the window. "Loki talks a big game, but doesn't act. He's Apollo where a… _Jove_ is more appropriate."

Bruce nodded.

Misty walked the laboratory quietly, observing the scepter in front of Banner with fixed eyes. "What's the end goal?"

"I was hoping someone would tell _me_. The energy readings here are off the charts."

Misty grunted and continued her stroll around the scepter, which pulsed (the free space around it appeared to vibrate) and maintained its vibrant blue glow. "Doctor Banner, would you take my blood pressure?" she asked. "I'd do it myself, but it's futile when there's an extra set of medical hands."

"Of course," he replied, seeming taken aback. Bruce crossed the floor still seated in his Aeron chair and, from a small black bag sitting on the table, retrieved a blood pressure cuff. He looked to be searching for something else when Misty cleared her throat and interjected softly.

"The stethoscope—" She pointed to his person. "—is around your neck."

"Right…" he drawled.

Misty pulled up a chair in front of him and offered her right arm. Bruce gently felt for a pulse in the crook of her elbow and found it right away, throbbing in a bulging blue artery. He wrapped the cuff around her upper arm, secured it with the strips of Velcro, and adjusted the cuff as needed. Bruce put the eartips in his ears—those always hurt if they were in for too long. He held the drum of his stethoscope in his fingers, pressed the diaphragm to her artery, and inflated the cuff. A beat of silence overlaid the laboratory as the cuff steadily deflated.

"130 over 80." Dr. Banner wound his stethoscope around the back of his neck. "What'd you say your normal was?"

"Well," Misty began, undoing the blood pressure cuff. "If I'm very—" Her hand flitted and fluttered about in search of the appropriate word. "— _angry_ … at the end of the day, I maintain a solid 150 over 90. Doc started me on Clonidine after a very minor, minor, _minor_ stroke at home."

Bruce couldn't stop his mouth from falling agape. "A _stroke_? Hemorrhagic?"

Misty nodded solemnly. "I'm being modest when I say _minor_ , but I'm okay now. The Clonidine is… well, I wouldn't be here without it."

"Wild guess: S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

" _Ding! Ding! Ding!_ Vanna, show him his prize," she replied loudly, albeit monotonously. "I also have a love affair with French fries and instant noodles. How'd you know?"

Bruce's mouth was in a tautened line as he shrugged his shoulders in response. "Wild guess."

"I was on bed rest for quite some time. S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't let me step foot in any headquarters, bases, _offices_. Nothing. I was monitored 25/7—"

Bruce's confused look seemed to interject wordlessly.

" _25/7_ , yes. S.H.I.E.L.D. certainly knows how to make a twenty-four hour day _feel_ like twenty-five. Fury wouldn't to let me back in until there was clearance from the doctor." She smiled apathetically and put her hands up as if to celebrate. " _Cleared_ ," she replied.

Bruce grunted, "First day back and they stick you in a hemp field."

Misty couldn't hide the smile wrenching her lips upward. "I can't say that I didn't enjoy it for a while."

"You don't sound convinced."

Misty shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not." Her voice lowered to a soft, almost inaudible murmur. "An agent has been compromised, one very close to my heart. S.H.I.E.L.D. has no leads on his whereabouts or his condition. I feel like I'm holding onto a thread very... _threadbare_." Her eyes were glossy and appeared to Bruce as shiny glass balls where before they were more like matte beads in her head. "I'm perhaps too sincere despite what your preconceived notionsare about S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."

While Bruce would indefinitely hold to those preconceived notions Misty spoke of, he found that they were beginning to falter. He was still wary of Fury and Romanoff—sharks. But never before had anyone been as transparent with Bruce as Misty, especially considering their relationship, or lack thereof. As he watched her sponge the bottom of her eyes in an attempt to hold back tears, he came to the realization that he pitied her and thought it was fitting, because people often pitied him too. And pity was not as pacifying as it seemed.

Bruce moved toward the edge of his chair, bent at the waist, and placed a calloused hand on Misty's knee. She didn't expect such a kind gesture from a man who, just hours before, refused to oblige her handshake. She jumped, and Bruce almost lost his will and withdrew his hand, but kept it on her knee instead. When Misty adjusted, and ceased dabbing at her eyes, she placed her own hand on top of his and gave it a gentle pat.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.

"I'm sure he'll turn up _spotless_."

Misty grunted, "Or dead, but those are two very different extremes. I beg for the former, for your _pleasant_ reality. Are you as prophetic as you seem?"

"I wouldn't put your money on prophecy, Agent. Put it on something certain. Hope, maybe."

Misty stared at Bruce for a moment with a glimmer in her eyes. "You know what, Doctor? I think you're the Jove we've been looking for," she said earnestly.

He chuckled. "The Hulk is your Jove? You'd put your faith in a monster?"

"I've known monsters. The Hulk doesn't seem so bad."

As ominous as that seemed and sounded to him, Bruce couldn't help but smile (for once, with his entire dentition on display). Misty smirked in response to his smile and clapped his upper arm in her hand as a sign of a camaraderie she hoped to have, as she didn't have it with many other people. She knew that she was going to like Bruce from the start, even if the disdain she perceived in his eyes upon first meeting him was off-putting.

Bruce sighed, and decided that his next interjection was one that required an answer. "I don't want to press a sore subject, Agent Cox. There's something… _more_ here concerning Barton. Is that wrong of me to assume?"

Misty laughed. "You know what they say about assumptions?"

"I know, but—"

" _Something more_ sounds sensible, Doctor Banner. The most sensible thing I've heard today. I wouldn't put my tears on display for just anyone. Barton's not just _any_ S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. He's my husband."

A beat.

"Well, now I certainly see the reason for all of the… um…" Bruce felt his throat suddenly tighten, and desperately felt the need to loosen the spread collar of his shirt. He had not been expecting Misty's response. How could there be love and _affection_ in the field? In S.H.I.E.L.D.? The concept had been well understood by him in any other context, but seemed strangely foreign coming from the mouth of an agent—not so much _this_ one, but she epitomized the whole. Returning from his own headspace, Bruce patted the breast pockets of his button-down in search of a tissue. He leaned over and dug his hands into the small black bag beside him, retrieving one from an inner pouch. He offered it to Misty with a solemn smile.

She took it, voiced her appreciation, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "Don't get used to them, Doctor Banner. I'm a steely-eyed woman. When my father died, I didn't shed a damn tear."

Bruce put his hands up defensively. "Fair enough."

Misty held the tissue in her lap and picked at the soft corners absentmindedly, rolling bits between the pads of her fingers. She didn't like to cry. Who did? Tears meant headaches, leaky nostrils, and hot, red eyes. And it was true: she didn't cry when her father died. Not even when she saw him in his best double-breasted tuxedo, stuffed into a casket much too small for his broad shoulders. Not even the sight of his scorched, upturned palms and the thinly split skin covering his carotid artery could force the quietest cry from her. Yet, the first time Clint was hospitalized, she couldn't stop hacking up painful sobs that eventually led to her own hospitalization (way before the Clonidine came into her life).

"I think I saved Clint's life, but not like he saved mine. Not in the field. Not the way he saves everyone else." Misty's lips pursed tightly and her eyes flitted around the laboratory. "I was in a very _bad_ place when I met him. He was, too. But he—" Misty paused to laugh heartily. "—threw me… a line. I took it. I owe him my life. It wouldn't seem fair if something happened to him before it happened to me."

"I'm sorry… Misty."

Misty shrugged her shoulders. "You didn't put that scepter in his chest."

"No. That Asgardian _asshole_ did," said Natasha from the doorway. She stood leaning against the doorsill, lax, with her arms crossed over her chest. "Wipe your face, Cox. You're a mess."

"Hello to you, too," Misty said blandly, blotting her face in compliance with Natasha. "Next time I see you cry, Romanoff, I'm gonna berate the _shit_ out of you. No holds barred. A single _tear_ is fair game."

Natasha nodded in acknowledgement. "No holds barred," she repeated. "Fury's got Loki in detention. Figured you of all people would want to listen in."

Misty visibly tensed, crumpling the tissue and its frayed pieces in her hand. She thought of the last time she'd seen Clint before they went their respective ways for missions in different parts of the world. Misty remembered Clint packing his bag silently as she lay on ordered bed rest, watching him with solemn eyes. She remembered the look on Loki's face and how much it goaded her into acting on her anger. She remembered how _great_ Doctor Banner said that her blood pressure was, and how she didn't want to risk raising it. The grip on the tissue in her hand softened and her tautened muscles relaxed slightly.

"Yeah…" she drawled, rolling her neck. "Give me a minute."


	5. CHAPTER FIVE

"In case it's unclear," Fury began. "You try to escape. You so much as _scratch_ that glass."

Fury pressed a button on the control panel that drew back the metal paneling and opened a hatch beneath the glass cell that Loki was confined to. Loki looked down apathetically to see streaks of white, iridescent clouds and the bright blue sky at his feet. The wind whipped and whistled all around the base of the cell, and didn't seem to faze Loki in the slightest. Fury appeared just as apathetic, if not more, than Loki.

"Thirty thousand feet, straight down in a steel trap. You get how that works?" Fury pressed the button again and the hatch sealed shut. With a grimace, he pointed to Loki with one gloved hand. "Ant." He pointed to the button he had pushed only moments before and sardonically said, "Boot."

Misty's eyebrows furrowed. While she understood the metaphor perfectly, she didn't quite understand the context or why Fury was using it. She decided after a moment of consideration that there was no quarrel with it—she loved the idea of flattening Loki like the insect he was. Misty only wished that she could have the ultimate privilege to use her logger toe boots to stomp him out. No worries. If she wasn't able to have the honor and pleasure, Clint would surely have the chance to get his shoes dirty.

"It's an impressive cage," Loki replied, pacing the cell absentmindedly. "Not built, I think, for me."

"Built for something a lot stronger than you."

"Oh, I've heard." Loki smiled and looked directly into the camera.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat in front of the monitor. Misty looked over her shoulder at him, frowned, and looked back at her tablet which was currently projecting the cameras view onto the screen.

"The mindless beast, makes play he's still a man. How desperate are you, that you call upon such lost creatures to defend you?"

" _Lost creatures_?" Misty muttered. "What a riot."

"How desperate am I?" Fury asked, a faint hint of humor in his voice. "You threaten my world with war. You steal a force you can't hope to control. You talk about peace and you kill 'cause it's fun." Fury slowly paced outside the length of the cell before facing Loki at the glass. "You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did."

"Ooh," Loki cooed tauntingly. "It burns you to come so close. To have the Tesseract, to have power, _unlimited_ power. And for what? A warm light for all mankind to share, and then to be reminded what real power is."

Fury grunted, turned away from Loki, and ascended the stairs that would lead him out of the detention area. "Well," he called behind him. "Let me know if Real Power wants a magazine or something."

Misty didn't realize until her fingers began to discolor that she had been clenching the tablet hard in her hands. She set the tablet on the table in front of her and watched Fury depart from the detention area while Loki looked on toward the camera with the sly smirk still on his face. She hated him as much as he terrified her. As often as she erected the strong front, she found it especially hard to hide the fact that she was scared _shitless_. The world was in serious danger from the… otherworldly. Loki's voice, albeit soft and eloquent, was laced with a blatant malice that transcended to a felt quality. When she looked at his gleaming eyes from the camera's view, it felt like someone shoved a funnel into her mouth and poured a vat of hot tar down her throat. She couldn't offer a single word.

"He really grows on you, doesn't he?" asked Bruce after a bout of silence.

"He's going to drag this out," Steve suggested. "So, Thor, what's his play?"

Misty hadn't actually spoken to Thor aside from the curt, but polite greeting she offered him once on the Helicarrier. She couldn't spare a passing glance when they'd been on the Quinjet and reobtained Loki, mostly because she couldn't bear to be within two feet of Loki again—she'd certainly lose her mind. But Thor, he seemed like a gentle god and man. It didn't hurt that he was _undoubtedly_ attractive, she couldn't deny that. Clint definitely didn't have those muscles… Once this problem came to a resolution and Clint was home, she was going to suggest frequent gym visits... respectfully.

"He has an army called the Chitauri," Thor replied, pulling Misty from her thoughts. "They're not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the earth. In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract."

Steve appeared taken aback. "An army? From outer space?"

"Well… fuck," Misty sighed quietly.

"So he's building another portal," Bruce interjected. "That's what he needs Erik Selvig for."

"Selvig?"

"He's an astrophysicist."

"He's a friend," Thor replied sternly.

Misty cocked an eyebrow. She had been elsewhere when Thor more or less leveled New Mexico.

"Loki has him under some kind of spell, along with one of ours," Natasha said. She looked solemnly to Misty and frowned. As much as Natasha was angered by Clint's compromising, she knew that it was nothing compared to the grief that Misty was feeling—she imagined that there was a hot, painful fire burning in the already fraught, dodgy chest of Agent Cox. They both owed Clint something more than tactile rewards could amount to, and she only wished that she could help Misty better cope with her lack of knowledge on Clint's condition and whereabouts. Natasha knew that, just by looking at her fellow agent, she was on edge from Loki's interrogation.

"I wanna know why Loki let us take him. He's not leading an army from here," said Steve with confidence.

"His thought process transcends ours by… _lightyears_ ," Misty interjected. "It's strategic. There's no other explanation for it. I think we may have walked right into the lion's den."

"I don't think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him," Bruce offered.

"Funny," Misty grunted. "I smelled _Dior_."

Thor seemed to triple in size as his boisterous voice suddenly, and very angrily, regarded everyone. "Have care how you speak," he began. "Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he's my brother."

Natasha replied flatly with: "He killed eighty people in two days."

A beat.

"He's adopted."

Bruce seemed to spare an eye roll. "Iridium? What did they need Iridium for?"

"It's a stabilizing agent," Tony Stark said, suddenly appearing with Agent Coulson in tow. He turned to Coulson and, as an aside, said, "I'll fly you there. Keep the love alive!" Without visually acknowledging the group, seated or standing, strewn around the briefing area, he walked in front of them. "Iridium means the portal won't collapse on itself like it did at S.H.I.E.L.D." Tony stood beside Thor and tapped his upper arm. "No hard feelings, Point Break. You've got a mean swing." Tony walked the length of the space and approached a computer monitor. "Also, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long as Loki wants." He addressed the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents working on their computers: "Uh, raise the mid-mast, ship the top sails. That man is playing GALAGA! Thought we wouldn't notice, but we did." Tony covered one of his eyes and leaned in close to the computer monitor before him. "How does Fury do this?"

Agent Hill stood with her arms crossed over her chest. "He turns."

Misty thought, very confidently, that Tony Stark was actually the one with a brain holding the bag full of cats.

"Well, that sounds exhausting. The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density, something to kick start the cube."

"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?" Maria asked warily.

Stark turned away from touching and toying with the illuminated computer monitor. "Last night. The packet, Selvig's notes, the Extraction Theory papers. Am I the only one who did the reading?"

Misty sat up straight in her chair at Tony's question. Her eyebrows raised and a deep, monotonous laugh left the hollow place of her throat. "Wow. I'm surprised you've got time to spare between being a business baron, America's asswipe, and jacking off to line coding," she replied jeeringly.

Tony turned to Misty and smiled. "So nice of you to join us today, Nosebleed."

"Kiss my ass, Stark."

"Don't tempt me," replied Tony tonelessly as he looked back at the computer monitor.

Steve looked horrified at the sour exchange between the two, but tried to put it past him. He strode one step closer to Tony with his arms crossed. "Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" he asked.

"He's got to heat the cub to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier," Bruce offered.

"Unless Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect."

"Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet."

Tony seemed amused. "Finally, someone who speaks English."

"Is that what just happened?" Steve asked.

Misty whizzed her hand over the top of her head and made a whistling noise.

Tony and Bruce approached each other and shook hands. "It's good to meet you, Doctor Banner. You're work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.

"Uh… thanks."

The click of Fury's boots alerted them to his approach to the bridge. "Doctor Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join them," he said.

"Let's start with that stick of his. It may be magical…" Steve pondered aloud. "But it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon."

"I don't know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys."

Thor's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Monkeys. I do not understand."

"I do!" Steve's voice was surprisingly chipper. "I understood that reference."

Misty smiled. At least someone was finding some light here. "Bless your soul, Cap," she said quietly to herself.

"Shall we play, doctor?"

"Let's play some."

Fury turned to Misty, who looked solemnly to the ground, and motioned her toward him.

"A word, Agent Cox?"

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed my chapter! I'm currently working on the next one, so I'm hoping to have that posted soon. As always, reviews are love!**


	6. CHAPTER SIX

Fury pulled Misty off the bridge and no sooner than they found a quiet area did Misty volley a string of incessant questions his way. "Is Clint okay? Have you found him? What if he's hurt? What's Loki done to him? I'll slit that bastard's throat, I _swear_." Fury hadn't been prepared for that onslaught of questions—especially the sudden turn of emotions from inquisitive to deadly angry. He told her that, although they didn't have any new or significant leads on Agent Barton (any information he had for her was either irrelevant or outmoded), she would be the first one to know of anything when it came up. He warned her to stay calm lest she raise something that needn't be raised, and to keep tabs on any new developments Doctor Banner should come across.

As cross and callous as Fury came off to everyone else, Misty's soft spot for him swelled and resided safely.

With her hands behind her back, she nodded at Director Fury and turned away to walk down the hall. As Misty crossed paths with fellow agents, she couldn't stop thinking about Clint and how, behind that strange, mind-numbing conscious he was functioning in, terrified he must be. Even though Clint tried to play it off in jest, he was very much like Misty with his raised walls yet soft, mushy interior that rarely ever showed through—except in his smile. That was sincere. And Misty missed his smile terribly.

Misty rounded a corner and, without warning, had the entire length of someone's arm set across her chest and was shoved out of sight against the wall. The impact rattled the spine keeping her upright and the brain in her head—she felt momentarily stunned by the shock and unable to process what was happening. Steve Rogers, the culprit, looked around to ensure that no one had seen anything and when he looked back to Misty, she had her gun trained on him with a hard-set scowl on her face.

"Wanna tell me what the _fuck_ you're doing, Cap?" she asked.

Steve put his hands up in defense. "The gun isn't necessary, Agent Cox."

"I don't know, Cap," Misty began, popping the 'p' sharply. "The only man who puts his hands on me is my husband… _suggestively_. It's very nice."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Misty slowly angled her neck to the side. "A simple 'hello' would have done the trick."

Steve sighed deeply and looked down to the floor. "I'm _sorry_ , Agent Cox." He lowered his hands slowly, as he feared that any sudden, erratic movements might lead to Misty unloading the bullets in her gun. "Can you put the gun away? No more funny stuff, I promise."

Misty eyed him warily before sheathing her gun and replacing it with her baton. She pointed one of the blunt ends at him in warning. "I won't shoot you, but I will hit you."

"Fair enough."

"What do you want?"

"There's a storage unit onboard. I need to know where I can find it," he answered.

Misty's mouth formed into a smirk, and an eyebrow rose as if to tease and torment Steve. "You're in over your head, Captain."

"I may just be."

She watched his face closely and his stern, humorless expression told Misty that he wasn't in the mood for any jeering, slapstick humor she may have to offer. If it was the storage room he wanted, she knew exactly what he was looking for. While Misty had been well informed on what S.H.I.E.L.D. planned to do with the weapons obtained (anyone level seven and above knew, but not everyone had _seen_ them), she didn't necessarily agree with it—the world was already a shit place to be and, why it needed extraterrestrial firepower at its defense, she didn't know. Misty had to admit, albeit against her morals, that the weapons would be extremely helpful should anyone of Loki's otherworldly character walk the earth again. She wondered why Steve had been kept in the dark… being S.H.I.E.L.D.'s marionette after all.

Misty gripped the folded baton in her hand so hard that her knuckles whitened. "You're going to cause a lot of trouble for me, Rogers." She swiftly and quickly spun her baton back into the dual strap holder of her duty belt and stood upright. "Storage 10-C, the hull hanger. You'll find things you won't like, things that'll make your blood boil, but don't be stupid."

Steve nodded curtly. "Thank you, Agent Cox." As Steve spun away from her, Misty forcibly grabbed his upper arm in her hand. He didn't even tense in her grip.

" _Don't_ be stupid, Captain."

He turned around to face her, and she released her grip on him. "Come with me."

"Bad idea. I'm rightfully, _blissfully_ ignorant so long as I don't have to see what's in that storage unit," she replied. "Without a keycard, it's on you and your needlessly large biceps to be creative."

Steve smiled genuinely. "I'll make due," he said. "Thank you. I mean it."

"You'd better. It'll probably cost my ass."

* * *

Misty walked the corridors in silence, but her ears peaked at the sound of an argument steadily brewing from down the hall in Doctor Banner's laboratory. She followed the mass of agitated voices and found herself standing at the doorway carefully watching the commotion unfold. In the laboratory were Tony, Bruce, Steve, and Director Fury. Everyone seemed to be talking over one another—it sounded like a chaotic, slipshod quartet. Misty looked at Stark's computer screen, which displayed detailed weapon blueprints, and at the HYDRA assault rifle on the table in front of Steve. She grimaced, being that she had never actually seen the weapons before and realized that her advice, well said, had failed to permeate that solid head of Steve's.

"Told him not to be stupid," she muttered to herself.

Behind her, Natasha and Thor pushed their way through the threshold and into the laboratory. Bruce regarded Natasha with eyes that appeared angry and red. Misty hoped that she never did anything in the future that would force her on the receiving end of that hot, acute glare.

"Did you know about this?" Bruce asked Natasha.

"You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?"

Misty felt sorry for Bruce. Everyone seemed to think that the smallest bit of negative stimulation would turn him big and green, and she noticed the way that Natasha and Fury kept their hands poised by their holsters. She believed in Bruce's composure and thought he could handle a sour spat, but thought a bit deeper down that there was a chance the Hulk might make a surprise and unwelcomed appearance.

"I was in Calcutta," Bruce answered. "I was pretty well removed."

"Loki's manipulating you."

Misty knew that this was Natasha's defense mechanism when she was in the wrong: blame anyone whom the blame might actually stick to. Although Misty wasn't opposed to holding Loki responsible, and manipulation was the name of his game (what an infuriating, yet eloquent silver tongue he had), Loki had nothing to do with the HYDRA weapons. It was as unethical as he was.

"And you've been doing what exactly?"

Natasha smiled. "You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

Bruce chanced a step closer to the group that had formed near the front of the room. "Yes," he said. "And I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy." Bruce looked to Director Fury with that deadly glare, and Fury seemed to give him the same glare in response. "I'd like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."

"Because of him," Fury replied, pointing to Thor.

"Me?"

"Last year earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously, outgunned."

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet."

"Does Loki count?" Misty interjected casually, still standing in the doorway and leaning on the frame. "Because I think _peace_ is a foreign concept to him."

"He chose his path," Thor bellowed. "Loki is rash and insensible, but his choices—"

"Don't reflect back on—" Misty pointed to Thor. "—you. I've got _terribly_ bad news for you, big guy. Siblings can _really_ fuck everything up for you."

"And you're not the only people out there, are you?" Fury asked Thor. "And you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched, they can't be controlled."

Steve grunted. "Like you controlled the cube?"

The blue gem in Loki's scepter glowed faintly as everyone continued to argue.

Misty couldn't really be bothered to pay close attention to the catty spat in the laboratory, and was thankful for the significant spatial difference between her and the rest of the group. She wasn't good with confrontation… _good_ in that she had a tendency to sometimes resort straight to violence, and that wasn't advisable here. As far as the content of the argument was concerned, she zoned in and out, _especially_ out whenever Tony Stark opened his mouth with some stupid and futile comedic bullshit. When she zoned back in, it was because Thor had opened the floor for subtle digs (again) at all of the humans in the room.

"You speak of control, yet you court chaos," Thor said.

"Remind me what happened in New Mexico," Misty mumbled tonelessly, looking distractedly at her fingernails.

"Your tone implies blame. I'll advise you to be mindful of how you speak to me."

"I'm _sorry_ ," Misty said, raising her voice. "Are you _my_ God? Did you die on the cross?"

"What?"

"Need I speak phonetically?"

"What in Odin's name do you speak of—" Thor looked down at Misty and regarded her with furrowed eyebrows, a smirk, and eyes too far amused. "—little one?"

"Little one?" Misty quickly drew her gun from its holster and pulled back the hammer, readying the weapon at her side. "I can still put a bullet in your head from down here."

"Hey!" Fury turned back to face Misty. He wore a stern look on his face. "You need to _relax_ , Agent."

"Tell _him_ to relax—"

" _Enough_."

"It's his M.O., isn't it?" Bruce asked cynically. "I mean, what are we? A team? No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We're… we're a time-bomb."

"I wouldn't say 'bomb' aboard an aircraft, Doctor Banner."

Fury put a hand out toward Bruce cautiously. "You need to step away," he advised.

Tony slung an arm around Steve's broad shoulders. "Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam?"

With a tautened, hard-set grimace, Steve shoved Tony off and away from him. "You know damn well why! Back off!"

The tension in the room was so palpable and overwhelming that all of the guns in the room could slice through it with their bullets. Misty hadn't realized the step she'd taken in wrath onto the laboratory floor and toward Thor. She was still angry (even though she spoke with a tone spiked with sarcasm), and could feel the blood boiling in her veins. Misty had to remind herself that 130/80 was a great BP to sustain, and she took a deep breath that came out hot when she exhaled. She took a step back toward the doorway and held the frame with one tensed hand discoloring again at the knuckles.

Tony faced Steve head-on and tilted his head. "Oh, I'm starting to want you to make me."

"Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?" Steve asked, not backing down.

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

"You forgot 'steaming pile of shit'," Misty called out after an attempt to regain her composure.

" _Purposely_ and _purposefully_ left out," Tony replied. "But thank you, Peanut Gallery."

"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you," Steve spat. The room appeared to still for a moment with his cruel, yet honest response. "Yeah, I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

Tony seemed stunned and stung by Steve's words. "I think I would just cut the wire," he replied curtly.

"Always a way out… You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

"A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle."

"Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds."

Thor laughed heartily. "You people are so petty… and tiny."

"Say it again, you pompous fuck," Misty spat. It was reflex to thumb her gun when she was angry. "Remember that _you're_ the one wearing movie theater curtains around your neck."

Thor laughed heartily. He bent down slightly and, in Misty's face, told her, "You don't provoke the slightest bit of fear in me."

Before Misty could offer a reply, Natasha caught her by the forearm and pulled her back. In Misty's ear, she whispered, "Picking fights here is pointless. Stop it." While Misty certainly was frustrated at all of the people (particularly Fury and Natasha) telling her what to do and what _not_ to do, she knew that they were only looking out for her. Crossly, Misty yanked her arm out of Natasha's grip and grunted.

Misty pointed a finger at Thor. "Get in my face again and I'll skin you," she warned with clenched teeth.

Tony rubbed his head and took a step away from Steve, which Misty thought was wise—the super soldier could snap his neck without a moment's notice.

"Yeah… This is a team…" Bruce said.

After listening to Tony and Steve's bitter spat for so long, Misty forgot that Bruce was even in the room.

"Agent Romanoff, would you escort Doctor Banner back to his—"

"Where? You rented my room."

"The cell was just in case—"

"In case you needed to kill me, but you can't! I know! I tried!"

A beat.

Misty's heart sank in her chest.

"I got low. I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out." He paused and looked around at everyone's solemn faces. "So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk." Banner looked at Natasha and narrowed his eyes slightly. "You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?"

Fury and Natasha's hands immediately flew to their guns again.

"Doctor Banner, put down the scepter," Steve advised warily.

Bruce hadn't even noticed that he picked up the scepter, bright and gleaming, from its post near the computer. The look on his face feigned both shock and surprise that made Misty's stomach churn with a white-hot fire; she really did feel sorry for him. Similarly, she hadn't realized that, by reflex, her hand was again on her own gun. Once the realization hit, she drew her hand away and seemed to put herself even further away from the commotion—she felt as if she had betrayed Bruce's gentility. The computer on the other side of the laboratory began beeping incessantly, and on the screen appeared a notification that couldn't be read from afar. Everyone turned their head to look at the display, then back to Bruce, who began to slowly, quietly recede back toward the giant monitor.

"Got it."

Bruce placed the scepter back on its post and positioned himself in front of the computer. "Sorry, kids. You don't get to see my little party trick after all."

"Have you located the Tesseract?" Thor asked. "The Tesseract belongs on Asgard, no human is a match for it."

"I can get there faster." Tony turned and started to run for the door when Steve stopped him.

"You're not going alone."

"You gonna stop me?"

"Put on the suit, let's find out."

"I'm not afraid to hit an old man."

"Put on the suit."

Banner leaned into the computer monitor as it continued to beep relentlessly. "Oh my God," he whispered slowly and breathlessly.

Suddenly, the Helicarrier rocked with a force that caused even stationary things to shudder. Explosions seemed to sporadically go off everywhere and anywhere that they could. Misty lost her balance, regained it for a moment, and was promptly thrown off her feet and through the glass of the laboratory window. She landed on numerous sharp, upright slivers that entered mostly through her side. The pain she felt seemed to swamp her entire body, and she couldn't offer the slightest bit of movement until the initial daze of being thrown had worn off. Misty groaned and rolled onto her back to find an armed and masked S.H.I.E.L.D. agent standing above her with a gun pointed between her eyes.

Misty put her hand out warily. "Can we talk about this?" She asked in a voice small and quiet.

With the other hand twisted beneath her, rummaging in the glass, she slowly grabbed hold of her baton.

* * *

 **Longest chapter to date! I hope you all enjoyed it. I also don't know how well I proofread, so whatever doesn't _seem_ right is most definitely on part of exhaustion. And, as always, reviews are wonderful things.**


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

The agent placed their foot on Misty's chest and ground the roper heel of their boot into the center of her ribcage, right over where her heart drummed rapidly. She winced, released the lax grip she had managed on her baton, and held the agent's boot with both free hands. Misty wondered only briefly who the masked agent was and mumbled her apologies before twisting their foot until the ankle made a clean break. Before the agent could react, Steve bounded into view and shoulder-checked him into the wall (Misty determined that it was a man, being that the agent was kind of barrel-chested). With a balled fist, Steve punched the agent in the stomach. He grabbed the helmet on the agents head and, with a force barbarous and crude, slammed their head back into the wall. Unconscious, the agent slid down the length of the wall and slumped at the bottom.

Misty rolled onto her side, propped herself up on her elbow, and looked at Steve with a raised eyebrow.

"I had that, you know," she said flatly.

Steve opened his mouth to offer a reply, but snapped it shut with an audible 'click'. He shrugged his shoulders in response, and walked over to Misty. He extended his hand to her with a hesitant smile, and she took it gladly to pull herself to her feet. Misty bent down, grabbed her baton now with an unyielding grip, and unfolded it quickly at her side.

Without another moment of hesitation, she bolted forward, pushed off of Steve's shoulder for leverage, and scissor kicked the agent that had been approaching behind him—her feet, working jointly, swept the helmet off the agent's head and the firearm out of their hand. Misty spun out of the kick and swept the now unmasked male agent's legs out from beneath him. She slammed the length of her baton down on his chest and used the blunt end to jab into his forehead. A red blot formed almost immediately between two ungroomed, feral-looking brows and left him lying unconscious on the overlaid tile floor.

She turned around to face Steve, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes and tucking it loosely behind her ear.

"Thank you?" Steve said.

"Any time."

The floor shook slightly, and Misty fisted a wad of Steve's tee shirt to maintain her balance. A loud grumble resounded from beneath them, then a guttural roar.

Banner.

"That doesn't sound good," Steve said.

"Agreed," Misty replied, her eyes widened. She faced Steve, pressed her closed fist against his chest, and looked him straight in the eyes. "Listen to me, Cap. You're the first decent man I've met in a long time. I mean it. It also doesn't hurt that you're very attractive. Not the point. Don't tell my husband I said that."

"Husband?"

" _Not the point_. Make it out of here alive, would you? _That's_ an order." With that, she bolted down the hallway with one hand holding the baton and the other grappling for the gun in her holster.

The floor beneath her feet felt sloped as Misty often found herself trudging upward down typically straight corridors. As she ran down the corridor, she kept one hand (the one holding the gun) braced and running along the wall to keep her balance. The Helicarrier was falling, and with it would fall every single person onboard. Misty swore quietly to herself and prayed that Tony and Steve would be able to fix the damaged engines and their rotors. If they couldn't… well… everyone would be taking a swim, and Misty wasn't in the mood for swimming.

Over the loud speaker, she heard a panicked voice say, "We've got a perimeter breech! Hostiles are in S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. Hold onto every junction."

As the message completed and Misty rounded a corner, she was met by two helmeted agents in chrome goggles holding automatic machine guns. With the first few shots, she whipped back around the corner she had skirted. Misty put her baton back in the double-strapped holder and held her gun with both hands. Quickly, she whipped back around the corner and fired four shots at both agents' legs—she couldn't bear to fatally wound them, they _were_ still agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (and probably wore bullet-proof vests anyway). Her shots hit their targets, and both agents fell to the ground groaning. Misty ran by, kicking away one of the guns and picking up the other for her own use. They fired, too, before they went down, and one bullet tore clean through the outer edge of Misty's upper arm.

"Flesh wound! Flesh wound! Flesh wound!" she said frantically. "It could be worse!" Misty put her handgun back into the holster and held onto the automatic machine gun with both hands. She fired at the lower halves of other masked agents she stumbled across—although they were smaller, uncertain targets, there would be no killing of her fellow agents.

Misty dropped one hand from the gun, touched her earpiece and, in a voice gravelly and strained, shouted, "Talk to me, Agent Hill!" Misty heard gun fire as a response in the earpiece. "Damnit, Agent Hill! Talk to me!" She felt a rumble in the floor below that vibrated her entire body and sent a tremor through her spine; for a moment, she lost the balance she had managed to maintain.

The entire jet slanted to one side and, with her balance already lost, Misty fell to the floor on her side and slid to the wall adjacent. The machine gun landed hard with her and unloosed a flurry of bullets to the end of the corridor. Misty grabbed the gun with both hands and crawled on her elbows and knees along the wall, seeing as the Helicarrier tilted far enough to make the wall seem walkable. She fired at the agents in front of her who had been likewise tossed around by the uneven flight pattern of the Helicarrier.

Misty touched her earpiece again. "Hill? Hill, this is Agent Cox! Do you copy?"

Instead of Agent Hill, Misty received Director Fury's voice over the earpiece. "It's Barton. He took out our systems. He's headed for the detention level. Does anyone copy?" Fury's question crackled over the earpiece.

"This is Agent Romanoff," Natasha replied. "I copy."

"No you don't, Tasha! No you _fucking_ don't! _I_ copy, Fury! I copy! If anyone's gonna kick Barton's ass, it's gonna be me!" Misty shouted, her finger pressed hard against the earpiece.

Fury sighed deeply. "Take care, Agent Cox. He's all yours."

"Damn right he is," she grumbled.

* * *

In the lower equipment room, Misty treaded lightly on the creaky access bridge and cautiously watched the gates above for any movement. The catwalk below her screeched and Misty whipped her head around to look behind her. She approached the railing of the catwalk she treaded and looked over it gingerly, catching a fleeting glimpse of a bobbing head of brown hair. Misty turned her head fast enough to dodge the arrow that suddenly shot through the air from below and whizzed past her face. At the speed that the arrow moved upward towards her, the feathered fletching was quick enough to just nick her cheek. She gasped, held her face with one hand, and quickly moved away from the railing. A stripe of blood stained her palm and fingers when she drew her hand back from her cheek.

Misty's ears caught the sound of some light pacing and metal clinking. She figured that he was coming to meet her on the catwalk.

"Bitch move, Clint," she said aloud, looking around the upper catwalks for any sign of him.

When Misty turned around, she was met with a notched arrow. She grabbed both ends of the riser and turned the bow completely so that the arrow loosened on its notching point and fell to the ground. Clint was able to rip the bow away from her hands and notch another arrow. Misty spun her baton fast in circles to counter the arrow that Clint let fly, and the baton's length swatted the arrow away and onto the access bridge below. Misty whirled around and swung the baton at Clint's slide, but he countered the attack and caught the baton in the recurve of the bow. He pulled and yanked the baton from Misty's hands; it clattered on the floor behind him.

She turned away from him and ran the other way, dodging an arrow that whirred past her ear. Misty grabbed an upright banister with both hands and swung herself onto the catwalk beside the one she'd been on previously. Clint leapt onto the same catwalk and, as Misty charged him, he notched another arrow on his bow. With her running start, Misty jumped on the horizontal railing beside Clint only for a moment before propelling herself off of it and onto his shoulders. Her thighs locked onto the sides of his face and held tight. From her duty belt, she ripped a long piece of braided wire, wrapped it twice around his neck, and pulled tight.

Clint dropped the bow with the arrow attached and made a futile effort to try and rip the braided cord from his throat. Misty yanked hard and forced Clint to walk backward in the direction she pulled the wire.

"Sorry, honey," she muttered, tightening the wire. "It's just… until…" Misty tried to balance herself so that Clint wouldn't fall over and drop her. "…you go… to… _sleep_ …"

Clint reached up and fisted wads of Misty's curls in his clenched hands. He wound his fingers into her hair and pulled hard, scraping her scalp with his blunt, rounded fingernails until she released her tight grip on the two ends of braided cord wrapped around his throat. His next few deep breaths were strained and audible. Misty attempted a forward flip off of Clint's shoulders, but he hadn't released her hair, so she ended up flipping halfway and falling onto her knees in front of him. Misty used one of her legs to sweep Clint's own out from beneath him, and he fell down hard beside her, his grasp on her hair finally freed.

As she tried to stand, he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back down. Her face met the floor with a loud bang and she groaned. Misty looked back at Clint and, with a frown, kicked her husband square in his face with the ripple-bottom sole of her boot. She stood up quickly and leapt onto the other catwalk where she was able to pick up her baton and ready it in front of her. Clint stood, his nose red and dribbling bloody residue, and likewise leapt back onto the catwalk where Misty stood poised. He had picked up his bow before making the leap, but also whipped a knife out from his duty belt.

Misty's eyes widened, and she sighed sadly. Her voice shook when she told Clint, "You _really_ don't have to do that."

Clint charged Misty with both weapons in his hand and swung at her with the knife. It cut through the air, but missed Misty only by a finger's breadth. She hit him in the face with her elbow, smacked his side with the baton (where he doubled over slightly), and hit the curve of his spine with the length of the weapon. He recovered quickly, smacking her across the face with the upper limb of the bow and delivering a right hook on the other side of her face. She lost her grip on the baton and it rattled on the ground somewhere behind her.

Misty regained her composure just as quickly as she had lost it. She spun and prepared to deliver a harsh roundhouse kick to Clint's face, but he caught her ankle in the hand holding the knife and, with the other, slammed his bow into her back. She cried out in pain. Misty dropped to the ground on just her hands and brought her free leg into the air, setting it against Clint's neck. She twisted her other leg from his grasp, and wrapped both ankles around his neck in a crisscross fashion. She propelled her lower half forward and threw Clint to the ground. Misty's feet landed on the ground and she stood up fast, albeit carefully. The mid-section of her spine throbbed with a growing, almost molten pain that she couldn't shake, and it forced her back down onto the ground in a crouched position.

"Someone's _really_ wants to sleep on the couch tonight," she mumbled, momentarily massaging the arc of her spine.

Clint grabbed her throat quickly and threw her to the ground on her back. She couldn't suppress the scream that worked its way out of her mouth. It felt like the entire length of her spine shattered like the brittle glass of a tumbler. Clint tightened his grip on her throat and forced her head down against the floor, readying the knife in his other hand. He looked menacing hovering over her with his pearly blue eyes and tautened grimace.

Misty couldn't manage even the smallest breath. Tears flooded her eyes and she kicked her legs about until Clint straddled her waist and sat down on her flailing limbs. Misty struggled to free herself from his grasp, but this time it was just too much for her. "Clint—" she choked out. "Clint… please." Her face began to discolor—at first to red, then to slight purple that tinted her cheeks. "It's… me." Misty expelled a small, squeaky breath that came out hot. With each small breath out, she dribbled saliva onto her face and Clint's hand. "Don't… let him…" Misty could feel her head getting lighter as each moment passed. She swatted pathetically at his face and clawed his hands in an attempt to get him to release her throat from his hand. "Clint…"

Clint's face seemed apathetic and unchanged at first, but softened. The synthetic blue in his eyes appeared to waver. "Misty?"

Misty's eyebrow twitched at the recognition. Was she getting through to him? Clint's grip loosened just a bit. Misty raised both of her hands up above her, clasped them together, and brought them down atop Clint's head. He let go of the knife, as the bow had been forgone long ago to hold her throat, and fell over onto his side. Clint groaned and rolled back a bit to make his next move. Before he could, Misty grabbed the back of his head and drove his face into the ground.

She fell onto her stomach, propped herself up on her elbows and knees, and coughed violently for two minutes without interruption.

"You—" She sputtered saliva onto the catwalk. "—are _definitely_ sleeping on the couch."

* * *

 **I've never written action like that before, so I hope it was decent! I certainly did enjoy the writing process. I hope you enjoyed reading. A giant THANK YOU to everyone who has been leaving me reviews. I appreciate them immensely! Reviews are wonderful works of art!**


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT

**'tis a rather short chapter featuring the long-awaited reunion. I've been revising this chapter for a long time, trying to figure out what new things to implement and what old things to take out. Still don't know if I'm _completely_ statisfied with it... But here it is! Enjoy! Reviews are great works of art!**

* * *

While Clint lay unconscious and restrained, Misty sat in a hard-backed chair at his bedside. Misty couldn't speak for all of her fellow agents on the Helicarrier, but she certainly was feeling better after seeking brief medical treatment—the two icepacks tucked into her utility belt didn't go without commendation. Clint had been unconscious for over an hour, so Misty had time to think. She thought occasionally about Coulson during her painful stint at her husband's bedside, and couldn't shake the ominous, desolate mood hanging around the vessel. She remembered how she had frozen completely, still hunched over and in pain on the access bridge, upon hearing his final words resonate in her ear. A chill ran through her entire body. She'd never forget how strained and husky his voice was, or how _pained_ he seemed.

Misty was ripped from her thoughts when Clint groaned. His fleeting unconsciousness was beginning to subside.

"Oh, boo hoo," Misty muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Misty?"

"Yes, Agent Barton?"

"Where are we?" he asked, his head lolling around on the pillow.

"The Helicarrier. We were hurtling toward the ocean ten minutes ago," she replied nonchalantly. "But all's well now."

"What the hell happened?"

"Does _Loki_ ring—" Misty watched Clint tense and brace against the restraints. "I figured as much."

He struggled pathetically against the restraints for a moment before letting his tensed muscles relax against the bed. "His name just—" Clint began to tremble slightly, and Misty realized just how bad her husband had had it from Loki's mind control. "I feel like he's everywhere. He's still… here."

Misty cuffed her sleeve and flexed her hand. "I can fix that for you in a _jiffy_."

"What?"

She looked warily to Clint and rolled her sleeve back down to the wrist. "Never mind."

Clint watched Misty clench and unclench her fist slowly at her side. He looked at the rosy blotch forming on her jawline, the bright red blood stain on her cheek, and the dark, finger-like marks around her throat.

"What happened?" His voice was firm this time around.

"Specificity, Barton."

"Misty…"

"What? A lot of things _happened_." Clint's unwavering, hard glare was enough of a response for her. "I was on assignment in Brazil—" Misty rolled the 'r' in jest, and spittle shot from her mouth. "—and Fury called me right as I had the shot on Fama." She pretended to hold a rifle in her hand, closed one eye tight, and faked a dramatic recoil that forced a dull burning sensation up the length of her spine that quickly turned to numbness. Misty put her hand behind her back to shift the icepacks and hissed at the small twinge of pain that greeted her. "And then—" Her lips parted slightly and her eyes seemed to roll back into her head as instant relief came from the cold against her spine. "—the world went to complete shit. Loki got into that _beautiful_ mind of yours and ruined everything," she said, pointing to Clint and coiling her finger around in the air. "But welcome back. Pleasure to have you."

Clint couldn't form a coherent thought or reply. He watched Misty with a fixed gaze that transcended the space of the small room and filled it with a somber aura.

Meanwhile, Misty couldn't help but fix her narrowed eyes on Clint. It wasn't his fault, and she knew that… deep, deep down. He functioned through Loki's mind control, not ever meaning to cause her harm. Still, she couldn't shake the agitation and upset that flooded her body so generously.

"How'd you get him out?" Clint asked after the tense bout of silence.

"The medic called it _cognitive recalibration_ … validation for driving your skull into the ground," Misty replied flatly. "You can try, but you'll never get an apology from me."

"Excuse me?" he asked in disbelief. "You _drive_ my _skull_ into the ground—" Clint's mouth parted slightly as he found himself searching for the right words to convey his confusion. Misty still found him to be _very_ disorientated and wished he would stop talking, if only for a moment. "—and you can't find it in yourself to spare an apology? I feel like a set of drums."

" _Boo hoo_ , you son of a bitch."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Fix your tone," she demanded, pointing at him. "My bitterness is justified. That attitude of yours is not. In case you forgot, you're the one who tried to kill me. I'm your _wife_ and you tried to _kill me_."

"What are you talking about?"

" _What_? _What_? _What_? Did I take out your auditory cortex too?"

Clint braced slightly against the restraints. He appeared visibly distraught, but Misty wasn't going to relent. As much and as hard as he tried, he couldn't recall anything that happened while he was under Loki's spell, and didn't know (aside from Misty's half-assed, sardonic account) what the current situation was. What Clint _did_ know now was that he had been the cause of all the marks he'd noticed on her. That killed him. It didn't help that Misty's sarcasm and anger were both reproachful and unrelenting.

"I did that?" he asked quietly, gesturing with his head toward her entirety.

"Wait till tomorrow," she replied with a jeering wink. "You think it all looks bad now."

Clint didn't respond.

Misty sighed. She was beginning to feel disappointed in herself as the sarcasm seemed outmoded and petty now. She stood up slowly from her chair, turned away from him, and put her hands on her hips. "I should've let Nat kick your ass," she mumbled to herself. Misty wrung her hands together with unease and turned back around to face him. "I'm gonna hold this grudge forever, Clint! It's a stupid grudge, I'll _admit_ ," she said the last part quietly. "But it fucking sucks because I _love_ you!"

"And you don't think I feel the same way?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, but you sure are acting like it," he replied coldly. "What do you want from me? I'm _strapped_ to a fucking bed for shit's sake! My own _wife_ doesn't trust me!"

Misty's eyes were wet and steely. Slowly, she lowered herself back into the hard-backed chair and trained her eyes away from Clint's face for only a moment before they darted back to his still, slack figure on the bed. "The medic said—" She struggled to pull air into her lungs, and wiped at the tears coming from her eyes. "The medic _said_ … that you could have put me in a wheelchair." Misty's voice was low and croaky, and she tried to stifle the blatant tremble and the floodgates threatening to spill over. "Your eyes… when they were hard and blue and… scary—" She nodded to herself. "—I'll never forget them."

Clint watched Misty with glassy eyes of his own. All of the pain in his head seemed to abate instantly, and was replaced with sadness and a twinge of anger that sat at the back of his mind. Never in his right mind would he hurt his wife, and Loki had made a bad man, husband, and agent out of him. He held out his upturned hand, hoping that Misty would forgo her anger for him and oblige. With the bleak mindset he found himself in, Clint needed the tactile contact, especially from Misty.

"Misty…" he said, his voice strained. "Come here, please."

"Depends. Do you plan on gouging my eyes out _now_ or later when we're at home?"

"I would _never_."

"You say that now, but I have the strangest feeling that you'll do something to force my hand." Clint didn't understand, that was, until he looked to Misty's holster and noticed her hand fixed to her hip right above her handgun.

Clint inhaled deeply and didn't reposition the firm, passive gaze he kept on Misty's gun.

"Don't you dare," he said, shifting his eyes to look into Misty's.

"Don't _you_ dare."

Misty watched his eyes for any sign of Loki and his sapphire glow still floating around. Clint's eyes were his own, gentle and sincere in nature. Those were the eyes she knew, and the eyes she had missed. Misty nodded compliantly, and pulled her chair over to Clint's bed where she unfastened the restraints holding him down. When the last belt slipped from the buckle, Clint sat up slowly to stretch out his arms and legs. Misty watched him with unwavering eyes, and touched her gun at her side should the last remnants of Loki wash over him once more.

Instead of the aggression she expected, Misty was met by Clint's arms wrapping around her neck and pulling her close. He held the back of her head in one large hand and gently flexed his fingers in her hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then her forehead, then both of her cheeks. As much as Misty tried to fight it, she was happier to see him than she was angry about what happened. A level of docility came about her, and Misty dropped her face into his shoulder and the persistent, profuse floodgates opened to the fabric of his shirt. She brought her arms under his and clung to the exposed skin of his biceps.

"I was gonna tear up the _world_ looking for you," she said into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Misty pulled out of his arms and held his face in her hands. "I love you."

"I love yo—"

"Don't you ever hit me again," Misty interrupted bluntly.

Clint seemed taken aback. "But—"

"Kidding. I'm over it. Actually… No, I'm not. Give it a day."

He bore a faint grin on his face. "You're gonna make this _really_ hard for me, aren't you?"

"Every day of your life, Clint Barton," Misty replied. She failed to stop the bright smile forming on her face. She couldn't be mad anymore, not when she was fortunate enough to have her husband back… albeit blood-stained and beaten. "But Loki's not getting away with what he did to you. I won't let him. We can still do this together. Nothing stops us when we're together."

Clint furrowed his eyebrows. "Nothing? You _sure_ about that?"

"Yes…?"

"Oslo… 2010… you had too much to drink and—"

"Shh. Shh. Shh."

"—then there was Viking Ship _Museum_ —"

Misty pressed her finger to Clint's lips to silence him. "We don't talk about Oslo."

Clint put his hands up in defense. "We don't talk about Oslo," he repeated.

"Good. Glad we could agree."

"So… how's…" He put a finger to Misty's chest and tapped the hollow right above her heart. "You were still on bedrest the last time I saw you."

"My BP is decent. The medic said I should get some rest, but there's no time for that. There's hardly time to think! High BP or not, S.H.I.E.L.D. needed me. _You_ needed me. And now, _honey_ —" Misty watched through the small window behind Clint and saw Tony peeling through the sky in his Iron Man suit. She shot up from the hard-backed chair quickly and recognized that the pain in her back suddenly subsided. "—light a fire under your ass! We've gotta move."


	9. CHAPTER NINE

**I'm here! I haven't gone away! I feel so terrible about not having updated in so long! Thanks to those who stuck around. I hope you enjoy! As always, reviews are love and life!**

* * *

The Helicarrier's hangar was bustling with movement. Agents ran frantically around powering Quinjets, mending broken engines, and providing medical support to downed S.H.I.E.L.D. pilots. As Clint filled his quiver with arrows and Misty loaded the clip of her handgun, Steve and Natasha approached, flanking the agents on both sides.

The apathetic look on Steve's face was hard-set. "You ready?" he asked.

Clint and Misty shared a wary look with one another. Misty clapped her hand around Clint's upper arm and gave it a gentle, comforting squeeze. Her eyes were soft, yet solemn. She nodded curtly to Clint, then turned back to face Steve and Natasha.

"We're ready. Can you say the same for yourself, Cap? Nat?"

While Steve seemed composed, Natasha appeared pale and shaken up. Who could blame her? Coulson was dead. The Hulk—Bruce, he was still Bruce inside all of that violent, raging green—tried to kill her. Everyone was gone. It was hard for Misty not to feel down about it all, but Loki was still breathing, and that was not okay with her. The sadness was replaced with resolve and an unbreakable drive—not to mention the anger that still surged through her veins.

"You bet. Barton, gonna fly us out of here?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

Steve led the three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to an operational Quinjet in the hangar. Aboard the Quinjet was a young pilot toying with the control panel at the front of the vessel. The sound of everyone's heavy boots plodding across the floor made him jump back from the panel and turn around to face those who had collected near the opened back hatch. The pilot braced slightly and stood in their way.

"You're not authorized to be here—" He was cut off by Steve's outturned palm.

"Son, just don't."

Misty stood silently at the back of the Quinjet, clinging tightly to the mixed-up cargo straps hanging from the ceiling. She thoughtfully gauged the situation at hand and considered everything—every word, every action, every _reaction_ —that ever happened in her life to bring her to _this_ point in time. Misty thought particularly about her father's murder and how it had hardened her. She thought about her mother's subsequent suicide (that she never talked about) and how it had made of skeptic of her. She thought about her brother's draft (he'd be so proud of her, she knew it) and how it had _ruined_ her. It all made her eyes steely, her mind pensive, and her heart hard-edged, albeit kind.

The Quinjet rocked and dipped slightly. Misty was knocked from the subconscious pondering and lost her footing, but regained it when Steve steadied her with a helpful hand on her elbow. She looked at the super soldier, smiled solemnly, and nodded in response.

"Feeling okay?" Steve asked.

"Can I be honest with you, Cap? Just for a minute."

"I think we only—" The Quinet bounced up and fell back down. Steve and Misty both lurched forward suddenly, but caught themselves on the cargo straps. "— _have_ a minute."

In a quiet voice, Misty replied with: "I love Sigourney Weaver in _Alien_ as much as the next person, but that's just a film. Fiction! Ridley Scott would shit his pants if he knew he'd predicted the future." Misty removed her earpiece and held it tight in her closed fist. "Seriously, Cap," she whispered. "I'm scared. Aliens are _scary._ You _really_ think S.H.I.E.L.D. knows how to handle extraterrestrial—extra _planetary_ warfare? Guns, aircrafts…" Misty pinched the fabric covering Steve's arm. " _Muscles_.What's _any_ of it? We don't know how these things fight in space. Unfairly, I'm sure." Misty's eyes veered toward the floor and seemed somewhat glassy in nature. "Loki _terrifies_ me. I'm only human. Clint's only human. I can't lose that man again."

Steve returned the solemn look that Misty had on her face. He took the earpiece out of his ear and carefully rolled it between his thumb and pointer finger, seriously musing thoughts of his own. "Then we'll just have to make sure that that doesn't happen." Steve held out his hand, the one with the earpiece, and looked Misty directly in her eyes. "So, how about it, Agent Cox? You trust me?"

Misty obliged his handshake with her earpiece in hand. "I've got no reason not to… I've also got no other choice. So, yes, Captain. I trust you."

Misty and Steve fit their earpieces back in their ears and looked somberly to one another. The Quinjet slanted as Clint steered it straight into New York City. A large screen in the cockpit beeped repeatedly and, not too long after, Tony Stark's face appeared on the display.

"Stark, we're heading north east," Natasha said over the intercom.

"Did you stop for drive-thru?" he asked sarcastically. "Swing up Park, I'm gonna lay 'em out for you."

"Lay _who_ out?"

The Quinjet dipped as the machine guns released from their holdings and fell through the opened access door. The jet trembled as the firing chamber unloaded round after round of bullets. Clint drove the jet in a sudden upward slope toward the penthouse level of Stark Tower. The Quinjet vibrated with the movement of the machine gun and no sooner than the bullets unloosed from the chamber was the Quinjet fired at. The entire jet jolted and Misty's grip on the cargo netting was lost immediately.

The Quinjet spun completely out of control and continued its rapid descent toward the crowded streets of New York City. Steve wrapped his arm around Misty's waist and pulled her flush against his body as he latched onto a handgrip in the ceiling. She gasped in surprise, now hanging from the ceiling by only Steve's arm strength, but quickly clung to him. As the Quinjet crashed against the concrete below, Steve's unrelenting grip around Misty seemed to tighten. While the life felt squeezed out of her, she was certainly grateful for the super soldier when the Quinjet came to a screeching halt and stilled on the ground.

"Everyone okay?" Clint called from the cockpit. "Misty? Cap?"

"We're okay, Barton!" Steve looked to Misty. "We're okay, right?" he asked in a whisper.

Misty looked directly into Steve's eyes—her own seemed glazed over and unresponsive. Steve nodded once at Misty in confirmation and squeezed her side gently to rouse her from whatever shaky, reeling conscious state she was in. She wasn't able to immediately offer a verbal reply. She could hardly form any sensible thoughts in her head. When her eyes flickered back and Steve's face came clearly into focus, Misty released the breath she didn't realize she was holding. She put both hands on either side of Steve's face and planted a kiss in the center of his forehead.

"Thank you," she said in one strained breath. If only Misty could have seen the blush on his cheeks under his mask.

Steve nodded curtly, silently wishing away the brick red blush that had formed on his cheeks. His hold on her waist loosened and she fell to her feet from the four inches she hung from the ground. When Steve was certain that she would be okay, he released his hold from the handgrip in the ceiling and fell too. Misty clapped Steve's upper arm in her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Behind them, the back hatch of the Quinjet opened slowly. Steve and Misty turned to the opened ramp and caught a glimpse at the destroyed concrete and overturned vehicles lining the street. Misty removed her baton from her utility belt and snapped it out to its full length. Steve braced slightly with his shield before walking to the back of the Quinjet and leaving via the back hatch. Misty followed close behind while Clint and Natasha unfastened their seatbelts and readied their respective weapons. She heard their heavy footfall trailing just behind her.

The bridge they had crashed onto was quiet and empty. A good sign. At least the city's patrons had fled to somewhere safe—safe being subjective. New York City was a warzone.

Suddenly, a deep, resonant sound shook the street, the foundation, the entire _city_. A large shadow slowly covered the length of the bridge. Misty looked up and, to her surprise, saw a giant, scaly leviathan curling and coiling as it moved through the air above.

"Stark, are you seeing this?" Steve asked.

Tony's voice came back loudly through Misty's intercom. "I'm seeing, still working on believing. Where's Banner? Has he shown up yet?"

Misty's lips pulled into a taut line. She'd heard about what happened to Banner aboard the Helicarrier. She hoped with all of her heart that he was safe… wherever he had landed.

"Banner?"

"Just keep me posted," Tony said.

Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Misty ran together to hide behind an overturned taxi cab. Misty chanced a peek over the side of the vehicle and watched chains of explosions go off in the sky, on the ground, and along the length of buildings everywhere. Cutting through the sky on a motorized vehicle was Loki, leading his band of Chitauri soldiers through the city. People ran frantically trying to escape fire, explosions, and weapon discharge that seemed to go off in all places.

"Those people need assistance down there," Steve said.

Chitauri soldiers landed on the bridge in large masses. Within a moment of touchdown, the soldiers readied their weapons and began firing toward the taxi cab that everyone hid behind. Beside Misty, Natasha pulled the hammer back on both of her pistols and fired shots at the Chitauri. She turned to face Steve with a stern, unsympathetic look on her face.

"We got this. It's good. Go!"

"You think you can hold them off?" Steve asked, turning to Clint.

"Captain," Clint began. He pushed a button on his bow which triggered the quiver to mechanically set an arrow in place. "It would be my genuine pleasure." Clint quickly shot an arrow at a Chitauri soldier, giving Steve enough time to dart out from behind the taxi cab and break for the end of the bridge.

Misty held onto the head lamp of the taxi with one hand and readied her baton at her side with the other.

"Hey, honey?" Clint asked, rapidly firing off arrows.

"Yes?"

"Please tell me you brought Angie."

Natasha scoffed, glancing only briefly to Misty as she continued firing off rounds. "You're _still_ calling that thing 'Angie'?"

"She's my girl!" Misty replied, beaming. "She's only got three rounds, though. I couldn't risk wielding this thing around with more than three. Gotta be wise."

"Can you be wise _now_? Looks like more of those things are on their way down," Clint said.

Misty twisted hard on the top half of the baton. Inside, the chamber clicked loudly and loaded a projectile into place. Misty set the baton atop the overturned taxi cab, knelt on the fissured concrete below, and pressed the butt of the baton into her shoulder. She closed one eye, locked onto the belly of an overturned car, and fired. The baton kicked back into her shoulder hard, but she was so used to the feeling that she didn't offer even the smallest cry. Misty swung the baton back toward the ground and quickly took cover behind the taxi cab.

On the other side of the cab, the projectile hit its target and exploded in a hot blast of fire. The blast rocked the taxi cab, so Clint, Natasha, and Misty all shouldered the vehicle forward in an attempt to stop it from falling over. All the Chitauri fighting on the ground were caught in the explosion and obliterated completely.

Misty peeked over the cab once it had stilled, surveyed the damage, and turned the baton back to its safety position.

"My sweet girl Angie!" she shouted over the commotion. "She never does me wrong! Let's go!"

Misty leapt over the taxi cab with her baton in hand and charged the mass of Chitauri that had collected further down the bridge. As Clint worked to free pedestrians trapped in a bus, Natasha followed behind Misty and emptied her gun clips at the oncoming Chitauri soldiers. Misty jabbed the length of her baton through the chest of a Chitauri soldier and pulled the baton back out. She quickly snapped the baton back to its compact size, forced it through the straps in her utility belt, and pulled a pistol from her holster. She picked up the fallen soldier with an arm wrapped around its neck and used him as a body shield while she fired off rounds at the remaining Chitauri.

"Just like Budapest all over again!" Natasha shouted over the commotion.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently!" Clint replied.

"Hey! Hey! What about Budapest?" Misty shouted. She pushed the dead Chitauri soldier away from her and into another oncoming soldier. Misty kicked the Chitauri in the head first with the instep of her foot, then swung it back and kicked with her heel. The soldier slumped to the ground, releasing the hold on the weapon in its hands. Misty whipped around to face Clint and Natasha amidst the disorder in the streets. "What happened in Budapest? Was it erotic?"

"And if it was?" Natasha asked sarcastically, aiming toward Misty and firing off a round just a finger's breadth from her ear. The bullet hit the Chitauri soldier right behind her.

Misty pouted. "You could've invited me!"


	10. CHAPTER TEN

**She's finally back (after a month)! This chapter doesn't wrap up The Battle of New York, but the next chapter certainly will! Thank you all for sticking by. I appreciate it more than you know. Reviews are love! Enjoy! (Shameless plug for myself: I've recently written a Brock/OC one-shot if you'd _also_ like to... ya know... head that way when you finish... *Smile*) **

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Had it not been for Misty's loose-limbed, light-footed nature, the energy rifle driven toward her chest would have certainly hit its target. She rounded her back and glided backwards at the thrust of a Chitauri's weapon, swiftly, _barely_ avoiding the sharp point of the energy rifle. Misty spun around on her toes and slammed the length of her baton against the soldier's back, momentarily stunning him. She drove the blunt end of the baton into the base of his skull before pulling back and forcing the baton completely through his head. The Chitauri soldier fell to the cracked pavement, taking Misty's most prized possession with him. She wrapped both hands around the base of the baton and pulled hard enough to fully dislodge it from the Chitauri's head. It returned to her wet, black-stained, and gooey.

"Desperate measures, Ang," she mumbled. Misty sucked up her repugnance for the moment—and the Chitauri—and wiped the black goo from the baton onto her pant leg. No sooner than she finished did an oncoming Chitauri tackle her to the ground from behind. She was able to shift her position on the pavement to face him—close up, Chitauri looked rabid and maimed, _otherworldly_ , straight out of the apocalypse. Misty held her baton at length and, as the Chitauri wrapped its hands around her throat, she pushed upward into his neck with the baton. "You—" She struggled to free the breath trapped in her throat.

Before she could register the lightness in her head, the rounded edge of Steve's shield drove straight through the Chitauri's neck. The head detached and rolled away toward the sidewalk while the body fell limp on Misty's own. Black goo poured from the Chitauri's neck and coated Misty's neck, chin, and dotted her face like a set of freckles. Without meaning to, she freed a girlish scream and pushed the body away from her. Steve offered a hand and Misty accepted almost immediately.

Once on her feet, Misty let loose a barrage of profanity.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

Misty grimaced. "Better than—" She pointed to the severed head careening on the pavement. "— _that_." Misty looked back to Steve and, much to his surprise, the disgust on her face cleared (and was replaced by a look significantly more somber in nature). "On your left, Cap!" Misty launched forward, nudged Steve away with a body-check, and drove her baton through the stomach of an oncoming Chitauri soldier. She leapt onto the hood of a car and propelled herself onto the shoulders of a second soldier—as it tried to pry her off, Misty drew back her baton and jammed it through the top of the Chitauri's head. When the soldier's body slumped to the ground, Misty dismounted swiftly onto the pavement.

Suddenly, crooked bolts of bright blue came down from the sky. A resonant _clap_ sounded before the bolts hit the Chitauri soldiers on the bridge and electrocuted them. The soldiers seized in their spots, stilled for only a moment, and dropped dead to the ground. Misty was baffled, but once she caught a glimpse of the liquid-like red cape touching down to the bridge, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"What's the story upstairs?" Steve asked.

"The power surrounding the cube is impenetrable," Thor replied.

"Oh, _joy_. Keep the good news coming," Misty muttered.

"Thor is right," Tony said. "We gotta deal with these guys."

Misty watched the approaching Chitauri flanking both ends of the bridge; some carried energy rifles in their hands while others barreled down the road on all fours. The savagery of it all—plus the steadily multiplying number of Chitauri soldiers—was frightening. It didn't seem real in conversation, behind closed doors, out of all this otherworldly action, but being in the heart of the action made it all into a very harsh reality for Misty to swallow straight. If Ridley Scott could see her now…

"How do we do this?" Natasha asked.

Steve looked to Thor, Clint, Natasha, then Misty. With finality, he replied, "As a team."

"I have unfinished business with Loki."

Clint grunted in response. "Yeah, get in line."

"Save it," Steve interrupted. "Loki's gonna keep the fight focused on us and that's what we need. Without him, these things could run wild. We got Stark up top, he's gonna need us—"

Just then, Bruce Banner drove in on a small motorbike over cracked pavement and fallen debris. Everyone turned to watch him dismount the motorbike, a look of disbelief coating all of their faces. Misty couldn't help but let a reluctant grimace creep onto her face. He looked terrible! His hair was shaggy and matted to his forehead from the sweat beads that had started to form. His clothes? Wrinkled, oversized, and _filthy_. Where had he been? He looked like he'd taken a daytime nap in a garbage can.

"So, this all seems horrible," Bruce said.

"You look like shit."

Clint's squinted eyes shifted to Misty. "And you're the belle of the ball, honey. All that—" Clint motioned to Misty's entirety with an outturned palm. "— _shit_ on your face."

"Keep it up, Clint," Misty replied. "Angie's still got two rounds left."

Natasha glared at her fellow agents before looking back to Bruce. "I've seen worse."

"Sorry."

"No. We could use a little worse."

"Stark?" Steve asked, pressing into the earcom. "We got him."

"Banner?"

"Just like you said."

"Tell him to suit up. I'm bringing the party to you."

The team looked up toward the thinning skyline to see Tony fly out from behind a building, following him was one of the leviathans they had seen earlier. Tony dove sharply into the street and flew straight toward the rest of the team (collected just at the end of the street). The leviathan followed suit, its body curling and writhing as it followed the bright red of Tony's Iron Man suit down the street.

"I… I don't see how that's a party," Natasha said.

"Squint."

Everyone watched Bruce as he squared his shoulders and walked in the direction of the oncoming leviathan.

"Doctor Banner, now might be a really good time for you to get angry," Steve said urgently.

Bruce turned back briefly to glance at the team. "That's my secret, Captain. I'm always angry."

No sooner than the words left his mouth did Bruce's entire body seem to quiver slightly before swelling like a balloon. His dirt-covered shirt stretched as much as oxford cloth could, but tore at all of the woven seams and fell to the pavement. It wasn't long before Bruce became the Hulk, standing tall, large, and green in the middle of the street. He clenched his fist, wound his arm back, and punched the leviathan square in its face. The momentum the leviathan had gained was so great that it pushed the Hulk backward and tore the street into a shower of cement. Tony, mid-flight, extended his arm and fired a rocket into an exposed soft spot of the leviathan's body, blowing the leviathan up into large chunks of fiery meat.

Misty dove for cover behind an overturned vehicle. Once safely behind the vehicle, she set her back against the side of the car and watched seared pieces of meat fly over her. There was a resonant _bang_ somewhere down the street the seemed to shake the entire city—the rest of the leviathan had slammed hard to the pavement. Misty fearfully shielded her head and chanced a look in Clint's direction; he was safe, at least, cautiously ducking behind an SUV across the street.

The shrill cries of the Chitauri soldiers were unnerving—even more unnerving was the Hulk's fierce, brutish howl in response. Beside the Hulk, Clint nocked an arrow onto his bowstring, quickly aiming upward at the Chitauri hanging from the buildings. Thor's shoulders squared and the god seemed to grow three times larger as he twirled his hammer around in his hand. Misty flipped her baton in a horizontal spin and dropped down into a grounded fighting stance, bouncing lightly between both of her feet. Natasha changed the clip on her gun and readied the weapon in front of her. Steve securely mounted his shield on his forearm and carefully watched the Chitauri collecting on the faces of every building. The propellers on Tony's Iron Man suit eased, lowering him slowly down onto the street in the center of the group.

From above, hundreds and hundreds of Chitauri soldiers shot out of a portal followed by several Chitauri leviathans that squirmed and curled in the sky.

"Guys…" Natasha said, turning everyone's attention to the sky.

"Call it, Cap."

"Alright, listen up," Steve began. "Until we can close that portal up there, we're gonna use containment. Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash. Agent Cox?"

"Yes, Cap?"

"Still got a few rounds left in that thing?" Steve asked.

"Two, Cap. What's the game plan?"

"I want you on the roof with Barton. Aim for high volume areas. You only have _two_ shots at this, Agent Cox."

Misty nodded curtly. "Got it."

Clint looked to Tony. "Wanna give us a lift?"

"Right," Tony replied. "Better clench up, Legolas. Uh—" Tony turned to Misty. "Nosebleed."

"Stark, I swear—" Before Misty could finish her spiteful response, Tony pulled her into his chest and held Clint with the other hand, taking to the air in a brume of dust and debris. Despite their sour spats and Misty's fixed sentiment toward Stark, she couldn't help but fearfully cling to his vibrant red suit like a lost child. Misty refused to look down, she'd surely let loose her insides all over Tony, so instead she watched her husband's face (as it was the only comforting thing offered as they peeled through the sky). She'd feel better about it all if Tony wasn't flying so _damn_ fast, but all things were considered.

Tony's propellers eased, and he hovered over the building top before setting Misty and Clint down on their feet. While Clint seemed completely composed, Misty trembled slightly, and sought out Clint's shoulder for momentary support. He stilled her with a hand on her back, subsequently leading her toward the risen ledge of the building top.

"Happens to everyone," Tony said nonchalantly. The next moment, Tony's propellers powered up and he was shooting through the sky in a hurry.

"You okay?" Clint asked.

Misty's hair seemed ruffled by the breeze and her face flushed two shades brighter. "Yeah, I'm okay. Let's just—let's do this."

Misty twisted the top half of the baton, which then loaded the projectile into place. As she readied the baton on the ledge of the building, Clint effortlessly fired off arrow after arrow beside her. Misty watched the streets carefully for _especially_ rampant Chitauri activity, but _everywhere_ seemed like a "high volume" area to her. She carefully watched a city block below that had collected with Chitauri soldiers, pulled the blunt end of the baton into her shoulder, and fired off a projectile.

"That's my girl!" Clint shouted as the projectile detonated and exploded the Chitauri soldiers. He watched the skies while nonchalantly sending off an arrow behind him that blew up one of the Chitauri's flying chariots. "Stark, you got a lot of strings sticking to your tail."

"Just try to keep them off the streets," Tony ordered.

"Well, they can't bank worth a damn," Clint replied. "Find a tight corner."

"I will. Roger that." Tony led the Chitauri trailing him into a tight corner, just as Clint had suggested, and emerged right in Clint's line of sight. He fired off a round of arrows that exploded every Chitauri soldier on Tony's tail until there were none left. "Nice call. What else you got?"

"Well, Thor's taking on a squadron down on sixth."

"And he didn't invite me?"

Misty continued to watch the streets in silence. With only one round left, there was no room for her to make a mistake.

"West 23rd look crowded enough for you?" Clint asked.

Misty shifted the baton and looked down to West 23rd street. It seemed decently populated, better populated than most areas she had surveyed. Misty decided that she was going to go off of her husband's word, repositioned the baton into the crook of her shoulder, and fired off the last projectile. She set the baton back into its safety position (even though it wasn't loaded with anything), sheathed the baton, and pulled out her handgun. Misty fired an entire gun clip at the Chitauri soldiers within ten seconds of the weapon entering her eager hands.

She couldn't help but question Cap's strategy concerning this short-lived victory.

"Got anymore clips on you?"

"A couple," Misty replied, loading another clip into the handgun. "Enough to last another four or five rounds, give or take. What I want—" Misty shot at the presumed power source of a flying chariot, taking out the Chitauri onboard in a blaze of white fire. She wiped a thin line of sweat from her brow and pointed down to the streets at the energy rifles carried by Chitauri soldiers. "—is one of _those_."

"Well," Clint began, glancing sideward at his wife. "If it gets the job done!"

Misty finished firing off the new gun clip before sheathing her gun and pulling the baton back out, snapping it to its full length. She pushed a button on the midpoint of the baton that ejected a small, rod-shaped offshoot with a ribbed grip that she held with one hand. With the other hand, she led the baton's length in a slow circle until it began to speed up on its own in a motion much like a rotor blade. Misty backtracked a ways back to the other side of the building top and readied herself in a steady start position.

"Hey!" Clint called back to her, not taking his eyes off of the Chitauri chariots ahead. "You take care, okay? You come back _safe_ , okay?"

"You bet," she called back in reply.

Clint shook his head and laughed quietly to himself. "You know, it really scares the hell out of me when you do that."

"Yeah," Misty chuckled nervously. "Well, you're not the only one. Remember the first time I did this? Damn near shit myself! But… desperate measures."

"I hate when you say _that_ , too," he replied. "Something bad always happens."

"Well, _Hawkeye_ ,are _you_ gonna fly me back down there?"

"I see plenty of opportunities around us, _honey_!"

Misty laughed, this time in amusement. "What a fucking riot," she said quietly, then aloud: "You're out of your damn mind if you thought I'd consider playing passive passenger to one of _those_ things."

"Nobody said anything about being _passive_."

" _No_ ," Misty said. "This—" She swallowed hard as if there was a lump in her throat. She nervously kneeled to one knee and placed a trembling hand on the rugged concrete of the building top. "—is already enough." Misty exhaled deeply, stood to her full height, and bounced on her toes. "I've got this. It's okay."

"You sure?" Clint asked in jest.

"Shut it, asswipe!" she shouted back in response. The gentle bounce of Misty's toes back and forth kept her cool and grounded. Just as she started to re-weigh her options, she resolved with a sudden finality that she was going to be _okay_. Her legs didn't feel like her own when they bounded forward across the rooftop and vaulted her over the ledge of the building—what _was_ her own was the shrill shriek that broke from her throat when her feet no longer had solid ground beneath them.

Clint sighed, shook his head, and grinned. "The Ladybird to my Hawkeye," he said quietly.


	11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

**I'm not sure if I'm actually happy with how this chapter turned out, but I don't want to edit anymore. I've had it with editing! So, here she is:**

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Misty fell hundreds of feet in a fast, frantic downward spiral. Another shrill, mangled shriek elbowed its way out of her mouth and, amidst the chaos, seemed to masquerade as one of the high-pitched, glass-shattering cries of the Chitauri soldiers, blending in like some coarse melody. Around her, flying chariots whizzed by and viciously whipped the wind in one direction, tilting Misty in the sky and drawing her hard toward the lowered glass canopy of what appeared to be a café. Everything from a shift of weight to a forced pivot of her body seemed futile at that point. She was going to collide with that canopy and it was going to _hurt_.

As the wind drew her closer, the incessant profanity flooding her mouth grew louder. Misty pulled her knees tight to her chest and barely cleared the first frosted glass panel of the canopy. She dropped her feet to the glass, stumbled before finding her footing, and darted across the last half of the canopy with the baton rotor blades above her still working to keep her upright. Once away from the canopy, Misty hit the button that slowed the spin of her baton and retracted the ribbed grip back inside. She held her arms away from her body and fell into a crouched position on the cracked concrete, a brume of dust and debris rising around her.

Misty touched her earpiece and, with a great sigh of relief, said, "The view from here is… _shitty_."

She heard Clint's own sigh of relief before his voice crackled through. "Son of a…" Clint's exhale was strained. "All this _shit_ , Misty… You're crazy. You terrify me. Jesus… you keep me alive."

Misty looked at the device on her wrist and checked the reading as it blinked red: 140/85. Not very good.

"Yeah… well, reciprocity's a social norm."

"I didn't tell you to jump off a building!"

A Chitauri, groveling on beaten hands and feet, took her by surprise when it scaled an overturned semi-trailer and vaulted toward her. She narrowly escaped its path, but was still nicked on her shoulder by the Chitauri's long, serrated nails which, to Misty, felt like the hot lick of a flame. She turned around and just as the creature lunged to attack, she drove her baton straight through its head.

"Well, you could have offered an objection," Misty replied. She pulled the baton out from the Chitauri's head and, with the baton, out fell a massive wad of spongy black pulp. A cold shiver seemed to immobilize her. "You knew I didn't have sound judgement when you married me!"

"You two sure did pick the perfect time!" Tony said sarcastically.

"All things _considered_ ," Misty replied.

"Like what?"

"Death. I'm talking about—you know what? Forget it."

The block ahead seemed to unfold before Misty. Chitauri swept down from seared sunshades, clamored up the sides of buildings, and groveled down the road as if Misty was watching every nightmare she'd ever had come to life in front of her. She cursed silently to herself and, just like a stubborn child, stomped into the mounds of dirt and concrete wreckage below her feet.

"Well, _all things considered_ : Godspeed."

Misty grunted. "Don't count me out _yet_ ," she replied just before bolting forward into the giant mass of Chitauri soldiers. She had sheathed the baton, readied her gun in one hand, and began firing almost blindly into the crowd of Chitauri—there were so many of them moving about the block that she couldn't focus on just one soldier. Misty managed to shoot a couple dead, but the bullets that had narrowly missed the soldiers ricocheted off vehicles, some into the path that her frantic legs made in the debris. She dodged the discharge of the energy rifles as best as she could, but couldn't avoid the beam of light that tore through the fabric of her pants and scorched her calf. Misty cried out in pain and momentarily threw herself forward in a hunched position to hold the burned side of her leg in her hand. She drew back her hand and was met by the sight of red covering her palm and fingers. At the second discharged round, Misty was quick on her feet and dove behind an overturned vehicle near the sidewalk.

For a moment, she thought about how she should have stayed on the rooftop with her husband.

Misty trembled and, no matter how much she wished away the pain, it was persistent, and unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She took a deep breath in and held it. "You assholes are a _terrible_ shot!" she shouted, her voice hoarse, and subsequently chuckled. Misty rose slightly to a crouched position, clutched her gun with both hands, and limped as fast as she could toward the Chitauri mass, taking cover behind the vehicles that lined the sidewalk as she went along.

A fallen soldier had dropped his energy rifle and, while Misty now felt wary about her intentions, in one fell swoop she dove for the rifle on the ground and dropped her loaded gun somewhere off to the side. Misty was quick finding the trigger and discharged the weapon at a mass of Chitauri that had collected in front of her. She rolled all along the pavement, debris coating her hair and uniform, and continued to fire the energy rifle until she had disposed of the remaining soldiers. She couldn't believe her luck, and she wasn't one to believe in luck.

Misty lay flat on the ground and relaxed for a moment. The strain in her voice was apparent when she touched the earpiece and tiredly asked, "Are we any closer to… doing anything?"

"Well," Steve began. "Natasha's in the air."

"Nat's _where_?"

Misty averted her gaze to the sky and, with one hand shielding her eyes from the blinding sun, painfully rose to her full height. She watched in disbelief as Natasha crossed what seemed to be the entire length of the sky on a flying chariot, her hands wielding knives jammed into the back of a Chitauri soldier. In the same instant that the chariot entered Misty's eyesight and gleamed in the sun's rays, it was gone. The only words Misty could muster on her dry tongue were: "Holy shit." And even that felt like rolling marbles around in her mouth.

That woman was a godsend.

As she watched the sky with diligence, someone _else_ watched her. Misty didn't know what it was that made him spot her out amidst the billowing smoke, mangled bodies of black, and flames rising off the wet pavement, but another approaching chariot dipped near her unsuspecting person and Loki, grinning dentition of ivory, fisted a wad of her hair in one hand, held the collar of her suit in another, and swept her away and off of her feet. Misty's grip on the energy rifle was lost almost instantly, and she thought about how futile that whole escapade for it had been. She grabbed the front of her collar with both hands in an attempt to loosen it, if not from Loki's grasp, from strangling her. With a low chuckle, Loki flung Misty off to the side and onto the floor of the chariot. She slid across the floor to the back of the chariot and, after she had managed to roll herself prone, curled to her hands and knees. Her pained, desperate panting was like music to the amused god heading the chariot.

"You—" Misty's dry cough ended in a pained wheeze.

Misty's hand shot to her earpiece, but before she could even communicate the quietest whimper, Loki planted the flat of his foot against her side and kicked her over onto her back.

"I wonder what's in your mind, Agent Cox," Loki said.

He gently pressed one foot into the hand nearing her earpiece and held it against the floor of the chariot. With the other foot, he turned her head to the side and ground the roper heel of his boot onto her face. Misty couldn't hold back the scream that had rushed from her throat when Loki waived his last bit of benevolence and forced his boot down on both her bloodied knuckles and the palm of her hand. Misty batted pathetically at his ankle with the heel of her free hand. She tried turning her head back, freeing _any_ part of her body, but the pain pulsing through every inch of it curbed the small movements she attempted.

" _False god_?" Loki asked with a sneer.

Misty tried to will away the pain, but the smallest bit wouldn't cease. What made her predicament worse tenfold was the acidic flare in Loki's voice and, as eloquent and beautifully-spoken his words sounded, the blatant cynicism was cutting. She had a bitter taste fill her own mouth and, first thinking it was nothing, was surprised to realize that the irony tang was blood.

"Nat, what are you doing?"

Misty was startled by Clint's voice in her ear.

"Uh… a little help!"

"No!" Misty shouted, even in its futility.

Loki's eyebrow rose. He leaned down to pinch the earpiece and pull it from the curve of her ear. Misty's free hand fisted a wad of his hair and, in her last attempt to get free, she brought his head toward her own in a blinding head-butt. Loki was so overcome with the pain behind his eyes that he stumbled backward holding his face, steading himself on the bowed side of the chariot. Misty, amidst the pain in her own body, was able to unsheathe her gun from its holster and aim the readied weapon upward at Loki's face.

"That's enough," she hissed quietly through gritted teeth. Misty moved into a seated position with her back against the side of the chariot—her entire body seemed to call out in agony, flaring instantly with a white hot pain that met every possible inch there was. Misty's face was flushed completely, so much so that her normally dark complexion was almost eggshell white. The pain in her hand (broken, perhaps) made her light-headed and churned a hot, violent mix in her stomach. She was sodden with sweat down to the logger toe of her boots.

Before she could fire a shot between Loki's eyes, an arrow peeling through the air was snatched into his grip. Misty knew Clint. That wasn't the be-all-end-all. She scrambled to her knees as fast as she could, but wasn't fast enough to escape the explosion that threw her and Loki toward Stark Tower. It was by the sheer luck she kept experiencing that day that she landed on the awning of Stark Tower instead of hurtling hundreds of feet toward the ground. When Misty had stopped rolling across the length of the awning, she lay supine with her head resting in a mass of shattered glass. She was barely retaining consciousness, and every breath she took was strained. Misty coughed, coating her already stained, black-blotted suit with crimson.

Misty's only _real_ solace was the mass of green she saw kick Loki through the tall casement windows of Stark Tower.

Her eyes watched the portal directly overhead. Leviathans and Chitauri soldiers continued to emerge from the mouth, almost seeming to exit in an endless stream of grey and charred black. She wondered where the portal led to. Another dimension, that was certain. But what else was up there?

Misty was still for a long time, and didn't offer the slightest movement until Natasha's voice came through her earpiece like crinkled cellophane.

"I can close it! Can anybody hear me? I can shut the portal down!"

"Do it!" Steve shouted in response.

Misty's eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes shifted, adjusted to the sunlight flashing off the generator, and spotted a windswept bob of red hair.

"No, wait!" Tony replied.

Misty sighed, and her mouthful of blood bubbled.

"Stark, these things are still coming!"

"I got a nuke coming in," Tony said. "It's gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it."

Her eyes went back to the portal and, even though it pained her, she managed a shadow of a smile. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of red. Tony. He blurred slowly into full view. In both of his gleaming red gauntlets, he cradled a missile and steered it into a steep incline toward the portal. Maybe it was the pain that seemed to break every sound, intact bone in her body, but Misty's eyes started to well with tears. Were they for Tony? She couldn't tell. Even though he was one _arrogant_ son of a bitch, there wasn't a bone in her body that wished this particularly miserable end on him.

"Stark, you know that's a one-way trip?" Steve said, his tone quite solemn.

There was no reply from Tony. Misty looked at the portal overhead, which seemed to swallow him up. The outermost edges of the portal glowed a brilliant red and yellow, and the sky seemed to erupt in color and reverberate with an explosion—it was like a thunder storm. Misty was certain that Tony hit his target with the missile. She watched carefully, hoping for a better outcome than the one Steve had predicted. Her consciousness, however, was waning, and Steve's next orders suddenly blackened the world around her.

"Close it."

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 **Two authors notes! So, I _realize_ that Loki's actual chariot ride is not like the one I described (he sits on that small, mock throne led by Chitauri), but it's all for the story's sake, and has been a plot point I wanted to include for a long time. I hope you found this decent! Reviews are love and life and happiness!**


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